


the things we lose

by officiumdefunctorum, The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: Dagger 'verse [1]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Book 01: The Eye of the World, First Time, Fluff and Angst, I reject your reality and substitute my own, M/M, Mat And Rand Go To Caemlyn: A Tragedy, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Minor canon divergence, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Queer Character, Sleepwalking, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unbeta'd, Unreliable Narrator, We Die Like Men, cauthor, dagger!Mat, don't ask me about timelines because the wheel weaves as the wheel wills, gray/ace Rand, standard self destructive Rand, woolheads in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22476325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/officiumdefunctorum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: On the way to Caemlyn, Mat and Rand find each other.
Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon
Series: Dagger 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842586
Comments: 19
Kudos: 43





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags and archive warnings; I’ve never met a character I loved that I didn’t hurt

The joking about Else was getting a bit old, especially with the oddly resentful turn the jibes were beginning to take.

When they finally sighted the rickety inn they’d been directed to an hour or so ago, Rand felt like slumping with relief, and not just for his aching feet. At least with strangers to squint at, Mat might leave off, if only for a while.

“Well, I doubt there will be many farm girls around to give you an adoring gaze, but perhaps an old farmwife or two might give you a pat on the knee for a song,” Mat said, the snide tone grating against Rand’s already stretched nerves.

“For the _love of the light,_ Mat, would you give it a rest?” Rand whirled on him, fists balled at his sides. “I never looked twice at that damned cow, and if you’ll recall it was _you_ I slept with that night,” Rand snapped. “Or were you just sore you didn’t get a tumble in the sheets out of it anyway?”

That last part, he hadn’t meant to say, and if not for his already flushed cheeks from the walk, they’d have colored in shame. He quickly turned away and kept his face forward, avoiding any look at Mat’s expression as they approached the inn.

Mat stopped talking, at least.

Later, much later than Rand had anticipated, in truth, a very pleased innkeeper happily showed them to the room they’d be sharing for the night. The innkeeper told them about the handful of amenities the room offered, and Rand flinched a little at the mention of two narrow beds. A quick look at Mat showed the other boy hunching his own shoulders a bit. He definitely remembered Rand’s sharp comment from earlier.

In the morning, they were treated to a generous breakfast, and were on their way inside half an hour. Mat didn’t make any more jokes about Else, or farmgirls.

The next two inns they stopped at—between nights spent beneath hedges and under copses of trees—on the way weren’t quite as generous as the first had been, but he and Mat made their way easily enough and got meals, rooms, and, most importantly to Rand, a break from each other’s company at the end of fearful days spent traveling.

It wasn’t that Rand didn’t enjoy spending time with Mat, because he did. A lot.

It had been some time since just the two of them had been able to do more than share some work or a hunt, together. Mat had been traveling to nearby villages to learn more about trading horses from Abell, and Rand had been doing more on the farm with Tam, and time with one another had grown scarce.

Despite his friends growing paranoia, though, when they were alone together and kept to lighter topics, he was almost the same Mat as before, and they could be on an adventure to the Mountains of Mist with nothing but their footprints chasing them. Mat still made him laugh, and occasionally blush, with his antics, and as usual never appeared to notice that he made Rand feel better just by being near.

“Rand, I think you might be the only light I have in all this darkness,” Mat had whispered one night between inns, after he’d woken up from one of his muttering dreams, and Rand could swear Mat’s voice sounded wet, like he was trying not to cry.

Rand had shifted closer, and wordlessly put his arm around Mat and drawn him close, like they’d done countless nights out on what they’d once thought were adventures in the Two Rivers.

They’d shivered in each other’s arms for a while before Rand had felt Mat’s hand go reaching for the dagger at his belt. Without thinking about it, he’d caught Mat’s wrist, stopping it with the grasp. For a moment, Mat was completely still, but let his hand be drawn back, where Rand pressed it tightly to Mat’s chest, covering it with his own.

With a final shudder, Mat had melted into his grip.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” came a scared whisper Rand was sure he wasn’t meant to hear.

Rand had pulled their cloaks over them more securely, and held Mat until they both fell asleep. When light came, they continued as if nothing had happened.

None of that meant, however, that Mat wasn’t getting on Rand’s nerves.

On the day they journeyed to what was purportedly the final real inn before Four Kings, Mat’s mood was fouler than ever. After several nasty comments, not necessarily directed at him, Rand was hard pressed not to just hit Mat in the mouth and be done with it. Only his fear that any blow might panic Mat and have him drawing that dagger prevented him from at least knocking him on the back of the head when he’d compared Egwene to a panting dog.

“Mat,” Rand had snapped, and given him a dark look.

Mat had closed his mouth and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes while they walked for a few seconds. The weave in his step that resulted from the blind walking made him look sicker than he had for the past two days. He was pale, his eyes red rimmed from disturbed nights, and Rand was worried about him.

“Sorry,” Mat muttered, opening his eyes and blinking like he was clearing spots from his vision. He looked exhausted. “I don’t know—”

But he stopped talking, and a scowl replaced the look of fatigue.

The closer they got to Caemlyn, the busier some of the inns seemed to get. People coming to see the False Dragon, was the rumor. He’d been captured and was being brought to Caemlyn.

After a good meal and taking a few coins for their performance at the inn, Mat’s mood had brightened considerably, thank the Light. He was still distracted, and Rand regretted his friend’s wandering attention, but it was better than half wanting to thump him throughout the day.

Sipping from a mug of ale while the harpist that hadn’t been able to play his usual time this night sang a jaunty tune, Rand allowed himself to relax for the first time all day.

Mat seemed to be enjoying himself, too. His friend was on his second mug, and looked close to beginning a third. Tapping his foot to the music, he turned to Rand and raised his mug with a cheeky grin before draining it and calling over a serving maid.

Rand shook his head at Mat’s antics when the woman came to top him off, and while it made Rand smile with fondness, he couldn’t suppress the pang at knowing it wouldn’t last. By morning, they’d be on the road again, and Mat would be fingering the dagger and scowling at every passing stranger or suspicious looking shrub.

A mug set down hard on the table in front of him startled Rand out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the maid Mat had been flirting with smiling down at him.

“Your friend said you looked like you could use this,” she said, nodding at the drink. “Said he’s had enough, so don’t be shy.”

The maid winked when she said the word ‘shy’, and Rand blushed at the appraising look that accompanied it.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and drained off his first mug, shooting Mat a baleful glare as he did so. Mat was snickering at him from across the table.

“Your head was up in the clouds,” Mat said, voice fond. “I could have started juggling up on the table without my shirt and I doubt you’d have noticed.”

Rand raised an eyebrow. “I think I’d have noticed _that_ , Mat,” he said dryly.

Mat grinned broadly and sat back in his chair. “Well I do look nice without a shirt on, it’d be hard to miss.”

Rand rolled his eyes. “I distinctly remember a time when your Ma told you you’d missed a spot washing up because you still had dirt on your chest,” Rand responded. “She didn’t believe you when you said it was hair.”

Mat blushed, but affected haughty disdain. “I was proud of that hair, and besides, I was fourteen!”

“You’re _still_ fourteen,” Rand muttered, but cracked a smile to show he was kidding.

Mat narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it and sipped his drink. “Drink your ale, funny man,” he drawled, “I’ll keep an eye out tonight, you need to loosen up. Maybe dance a little. That bar maid—”

“So help me, Mat, if you start in on—”

“Fine, fine!” Mat said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying a thing. Just drink your ale, burn me.”

After eyeing Mat a minute, Rand did. Mat went to use the privy, and when he came back, he sat beside Rand instead of across from him, and Rand relaxed just a bit more.

Three mugs later, and the people in the inn had begun dancing. Mat stayed by Rand’s side and kept pointing out different dancers and telling increasingly outlandish stories about them and their partners, and soon had Rand snorting into his newly acquired fourth mug of ale. His body had a pleasant tingle running through it, and each smile felt like it came easier than the last. Right now, Shadar Logoth, Trollocs, and Myrddraal felt far away indeed.

Rand saw Mat’s foot tapping at the reel the harpist had begun, and the way he watched the dancers with evident enthusiasm, in spite of his commentary. A melancholy smile crept onto Rand’s face, and he tried to banish the feeling. Mat should be able to have fun tonight. He’d be miserable tomorrow, they both would be, but maybe for now there would be something good to help keep the darkness away a while longer.

Feeling magnanimous and rewarding himself internally for the selflessness of the gesture, he opened his mouth to tell Mat he should go dance.

“Come on, Rand,” Mat said, grabbing him by the arm and grinning at him. “Dance with me.”

His mug forgotten on the table, Rand stumbled a little as he was pulled to his feet. “What?” He asked, stupidly.

“ _Dance_ with me,” Mat repeated, pulling him toward the dancers. “You keep getting this kicked dog look about you and I’m sick of it, so you’re going to dance with me and I’m going to embarrass you and at least then whatever nonsense is going on in that great tall head of yours will be somewhere else.”

Before Rand could even protest, Mat’s hands were on him, and they were away.

A handful of people did indeed laugh at them, and Rand felt himself blushing, but not nearly as much as he was grinning when he stopped feeling so self conscious. They weren’t even the only pair of men dancing in the room, nor the drunkest. It was simply too crowded to really make them a spectacle, in spite of Rand’s height and Mat’s boisterous movements.

Mat lead them through the reel, but when the next song started up, Rand took over and whirled Mat around through the next song, and the next.

When Rand seized Mat by the waist to lift him through a turn, Mat threw back his head and laughed, and Rand nearly missed the landing as he stared at his friend’s exposed neckline, glistening with sweat. He saved it and they danced through the next steps, but Rand now found himself much more aware of Mat while they moved.

Mat really was a gifted dancer, adding turns and flourishes to steps that perhaps another wouldn’t dare in his place. His dark hair had grown, and the curls whipped about his ears and face while he stepped and skipped. In these moments, while Rand held his hands and spun him and lifted him off his feet, Mat was both the same and different than he had been in Emond’s Field. No amount of ale or dancing could erase the hollows in his cheeks or the smudges beneath his eyes, but there was a light in them that had not been there for weeks.

Mat’s brown eyes met Rand’s staring gray, and their corners crinkled as he smiled up at Rand.

Rand’s hands tightened on Mat’s waist, and his chest felt like it might explode. _Light_ , Mat was... he was radiant.

With a final flourish, Mat broke his gaze and the dance ended. The crowd clapped, hooting and shouting for more.

If he had to do that again, Rand thought he might actually die, so he dragged Mat back to the table, both of them laughing like madmen as they collapsed onto the bench where they’d sat side by side.

“Light, Rand, I don’t know how the women do it. You’re so bloody tall, it’s like dancing with a tree,” Mat laughed, thumping Rand’s chest and reclaiming his half full mug of ale from the table.

“Yes, well, most of my dance partners aren’t _insane_ ,” Rand retorted, nudging him with his shoulder.

Seemingly without a thought about it, Mat slumped against Rand’s side, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder. Of its own accord, it seemed, his arm moved to sit snug around Mat’s shoulders.

Beyond the occasional comment or half-hearted start at conversation, they stayed like that and watched the dancing until it was time to sleep.

Only a little drunk, Rand and Mat fell into their respective beds, and Rand fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

Four Kings was a disaster, and Rand was more grateful than ever that he was not alone as they ran from dark friends and worse.

“Rand, _Rand!_ Slow down,” Mat panted behind him. They’d been moving as fast as they could through the dark and rain for nearly two hours.

“Not yet,” Rand said, his heart clenching along with his grip on Mat’s hand. “We have to find the road.”

“Rand,” Mat said, and tugged sharply so that Rand had to stop or drag Mat to the muddy earth. “I can't bloody see; do you even know where you’re going?”

“That farm we passed can’t be that far from the road, just a bit further and we’ll—”

“Rand,” Mat said more urgently, and this time Rand heard the note of panic in it, the fear. “I can’t _see_ ,” and his knees buckled.

Catching him halfway down, they both slumped in the sodden loam of the sparse tree cover, and Mat clutched at Rand with desperate hands.

“I can’t see,” Mat was choking out between gasped breaths and half sobs, and Rand could only hold him tightly while the rain continued to fall.

“Shh,” Rand tried, at a loss as he rubbed wet hands against Mat’s shoulders through his equally wet shirt. “I’ve got you Mat, it’s going to be alright. I’ll find the road, we’ll get to Caemlyn and find Perrin and Egwene and Nynaeve, it’ll be fine.”

 _“My eyes,”_ moaned his friend, and Rand felt sick.

“You’re not blind, Mat,” Rand whispered. “I’ve got you.”

“But I _can’t see_ ,” Mat gasped out. Rand’s guts twisted.

Light, what if Mat really _was_ blind?

_No._

The thought swept through Rand like a gust of wind. _No_ , thought Rand again viciously, and brought both his hands up to frame Mat’s face.

“It’s okay, Mat. Close your eyes,” said Rand firmly, swiping water and tears away from Mat’s face with his thumbs.

Mat looked up, eyes open and lost, though Rand himself could barely see in the darkness and falling rain.

Threading calloused fingers through dark, wet hair, Rand touched his forehead to Mat’s and closed his own eyes.

“Close your eyes and breathe with me, Mat, come on, you’re okay,” said Rand willing it to be so.

Mat choked out a sob, and Rand pressed against him with hands and forehead, anchoring them both.

“Just breathe, Mat, I’m here,” soothed Rand, and to his relief, he felt Mat take a few steadier, shuddering breaths as the rain fell around them.

Keeping his eyes closed, Rand concentrated on keeping his own worry and fear separated from himself, breathing deeply and evenly, feeding everything that wasn’t that steady rhythm into the flame.

“That’s it,” Rand said, and he could feel the heat of Mat’s breath, finally even, against his lips.

“Now open your eyes,” said Rand, feeling distant from his own chilled skin, the press of Mat’s clammy forehead against his.

Brown eyes opened, bloodshot, pupils impossibly small in the dark, and Rand looked into them fearlessly.

“You’re not blind. You _will_ see again. You _will_ ,” he said, when Mat’s breath hitched. “And until you do, I will be your eyes.”

The words felt like they were taking something out of him, putting it into Mat. It made his head swim for a moment, but he didn’t care as long as Mat recovered enough that they could keep moving. Mat’s eyes wouldn’t heal if they were dead.

Slowly, Rand withdrew his hands from Mat’s face and hair, bringing them down to close around Mat’s balled fists where they gripped Rand’s shirt in sodden handfuls.

Rand watched as blue eyes darted a bare inch from his own, searching blindly for the truth of Rand’s words.

“I’ll take care of you, just stay with me, okay?” Rand said, the flame and the void disappearing under the press of his own desperate fear. “I can’t do this without you.”

Rand felt Mat’s own hand reach up this time to settle against the back of his neck. His pulse raced beneath the cold fingers, and Rand shivered. For a moment, Mat’s grip tightened, their faces pressing closer, and Rand’s stomach lurched, but Mat released him with a ragged breath and dropped his forehead to Rand’s chest.

They sat there for long minutes, Rand feeling dizzy and hyper aware of every drop of rain touching his skin, holding Mat while they both caught their breath.

Finally, they both stood and, Mat’s hand firmly in Rand’s, set off running once more.

Later, when they stopped for a rest, Mat spoke up again.

“Rand, you won’t leave me, will you? If I can't keep up?”

Rand tightened his grip on Mat’s hand, wondering if there were a stronger way to say it than, _‘over my dead body.’_ Leaving Mat would be like trying to walk away without legs; it just was not going to happen.

“Not for anything."

In the morning, Rand’s head felt stuffed with wool, and Mat could see. His mood was improved enough to throw jibes Rand’s way, and even in wet clothing, exhausted as they were, they set out on the road in better spirits.

Mat didn’t need Rand to guide him by the hand, anymore, and Rand didn’t have it in him to feel even a bit of regret at the loss, Mat was so happy. Rand had never felt more pleased to be insulted.

* * *

It was too hot, he was burning up from the inside. Light, he was on fire. He tried to yell, but all that came out was a strangled moan.

A cool sensation on his forehead, and he felt a moment’s relief.

“Shh, Rand, it’s okay, it’s just a fever, you’re only a bit sick.”

“M-Mat?” Rand mumbled, fumbling for Mat’s hand with an arm that felt disconnected from his body.

“Yeah, Rand,” came Mat’s voice from far away. “You just sleep, I’ve got you.”

Later, he woke feeling cold, his body wracked with shivers, and felt strong arms around him while he shook. He clutched weakly at Mat’s shirt, and turned his face into the worn woolen fabric. Mat smelled like sweat, hay, and dirt, but Rand didn’t mind.

In a moment of lucidity while he was fevered, he met Mat’s weary gaze with his own.

“Thank you, Mat,” said Rand in a hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry for all this.”

“None of that, you idiot,” Mat said, stroking Rand’s sweat damp hair from his face. Rand shut his eyes at the contact. Light, he was tired. Vaguely, he noticed his head was in Mat’s lap.

“You all but carry me around while I’m half blind, and you think I’d leave you buried in straw and run off?” Mat went on. “‘Well, I’m off to go fight the Trollocs and Myrddraal and bloody darkfriends by myself, get well soon!’ Light! I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Rand al’Thor.”

A weak smile cracked Rand’s dry lips. “You’ve always been smarter than me, Mat. Not that anyone’d know it.”

“Oh, so you’re recovered enough to make fun of me, is that it?” Mat snorted, and Rand could hear the grin in his friend’s voice, and the relief.

Turning his head in toward Mat’s stomach, Rand was quiet for a moment, feeling Mat’s fingers moving gently through his tangled hair.

“N-not sure it’s over, yet,” Rand said, the beginnings of cold licking up his spine. “And you are smart, you j-just use your brain for g-getting into trouble.” He shivered, and Mat stopped stroking his hair to shift him upward and back. Rand tried to help, but Mat made a rude noise at him and batted his arms away.

Allowing himself to be moved, Rand ended up sitting on a thick bed of straw, leaning backward into the lean muscles of Mat’s chest, the other man’s legs bracketing him on either side. Mat tugged a cloak over the both of them and settled back. Rand felt weak as a kitten, and was grateful beyond words for Mat’s help.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The only response he received was Mat’s arms snaking around his shoulders, and a sensation of pressure on the back of his head, there and then gone.

“It’s t-true, you know,” Rand said.

Mat made a questioning noise behind Rand’s head.

“You’re the smart one, between us,” Rand said, fisting his hands in the cloak; his thoughts were starting to go fuzzy. “Y-you just think so fast, sometimes you’ve got t-too many ideas, I think, and it all gets mixed up in your head.”

The noise Mat made was sleepy and disbelieving.

“It’s t-true,” Rand insisted, then stopped. What was he saying? Mat’s arms felt nice around him. “Other people’d see it... like... like your Da and I do, if they ever talked with you the way we used to.” Rand had to stop when a strong shiver ran through him. Mat’s arms tightened. “You, and P-Perrin and I. L-Light, I hope he’s okay.”

“He’ll b’fine,” Mat mumbled, and the pressure was back against his head, and this time it stayed. “Got that bloody great axe. And m’not smart.” Rand felt more than heard. Mat’s mouth must be pressed to his head. That was nice, too.

“You are.” Spots were dancing in front of Rand’s eyes, but this felt important. It was Mat. Mat was... Mat was everything good in the world right now. Rand would hug him back if he could, but his muscles felt like jelly.

“Sht’up, Rand,” mumbled Mat, settling them back so Rand’s head rested against Mat’s shoulder, and Mat’s chin perched on Rand’s. “Sleep.”

Shivering slightly, Rand closed his eyes, feeling Mat’s strong, steady heartbeat against his back; the rise and fall of Mat’s breath out of time with his own shuddering rhythm.

Rand turned his head into Mat’s neck, tucking his forehead into the damp nest of skin and shirt collar.

“‘d love you even if you weren’t,” Rand tried to say, and wasn’t sure he managed. Either way, Mat’s breathing remained the same, and Rand’s awareness drifted away.


	2. 2

Running from the latest encounter with a darkfriend left Mat and Rand in a foul mood, but with Rand both foul of temper _and_ barely able to stand, let alone run. Mat was, uncharacteristically for him of late, more than a bit solicitous of Rand as he stumbled along, always keeping an arm under him and encouraging him when he faltered, if a little sharply on occasion.

Their lucky encounter with a carter and his graciously given ride was a welcome respite that lightened both their spirits. Even luckier the ridea from the equally generous, and gregarious, man who brought them both to Caemlyn.

Mat, still occasionally checking him for fever, unselfconsciously held Rand’s hand while they sat in the cart, a move which baffled Rand somewhat, but not one about which he was going to complain. Rand then fell asleep on the ride, waking up with his head in Mat’s lap as they neared the city.

Rand shook himself awake, and a quick inspection of his hair showed the unmistakable feeling of tangles finger combed away. A questioning look in Mat’s direction brought a shrug and an exhausted smile.

“At least you got some sleep,” Mat complained. “He talked all night.”

And then they were in Caemlyn, and the good cheer and odd affection of the morning faded away like they never were. When they finally found the Queen’s Blessing and told Master Gill their story, Rand was almost relieved that Mat chose to go straight to bed.

It gave Rand some time to think, especially after meeting Loial. He stood on a tiny balcony that gave a modest but beautiful view of the winding roads through Caemlyn, and had a good smoke for the first time in weeks.

Letting the smoke drift from his nose, Rand allowed his thoughts to wander, hoping they made some kind of sense.

Mat’s behavior had been so... confusing, these past weeks. Rand thought it had something to do with that dagger from Shadar Logoth, with the way Mat kept touching it and his uncharacteristic nastiness at times. Mat had always had something of a foul temper when it took him, but it was always more grouch than gruff. He’d never been so _cruel_ , before.

But then, it would melt away, and he wasn’t just the Mat from before, but even more than what he’d been, at least to Rand. He couldn’t be crazy, thinking about the times they’d spent huddled together beneath hedges, or sharing a bed at an inn. Light, even just some of the times they’d walked of an evening. Mat had been more tactile, daring embraces and casual touches that Rand wouldn’t have tried on his own initiative.

Mat had always been bold about the things he wanted, but he couldn’t possibly...

Sucking harder at the pipe, Rand frowned at the city below and before him.

In years past, since they had been old enough for overnight hunting trips or had hared off on their own to go see the Mountains of Mist or the Water Wood, he and Mat had shared blankets and bedrolls when unseasonable cold had crept in of a night, or just for comfort when the howls of wolves broke the night. Such was not uncommon for hunters in the Two Rivers, who rarely took tents or other such comforts along on short trips.

Even then, when tents were carried, one to be shared was the norm more than two, unless women numbered among the hunters. Before she was the Wisdom, he’d heard Nynaeve complain often enough of men’s snores and stench to insist on her own tent more than for the sake of her virtue.

A smile crept onto Rand’s face at the thought. He did not think so foolish a man to dare a wandering hand with Nynaeve existed in the Two Rivers, perhaps in the whole land.

The light send she was safe, that they were all safe.

For now, it seemed like he and Mat were.

Mat.

Rand grunted in frustration, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. There had just been too much fear and strain to even think about what was happening between he and Mat. It was a long time since they’d been boys sharing blankets, Mat with his dusting of chest hair and Rand awkward and gangly with new height.

Mat had begun chasing the village girls, and Rand... Rand had done what he’d always done: follow Mat into trouble, often if only to get him out of it.

They’d grown up, and had new responsibilities to go with their new bodies, and then weeks would pass without seeing one another. In spite of that, every time Rand sighted Mat from down the road to the Village Green, that thrill would shoot through him and he’d gallop Bela the last hundred paces to meet his friend.

Rand had... he’d always thought he was just happy to see his friend. But Perrin would be there too, and though he felt the same joy at seeing the other boy—wider than the both of them, only months into his apprenticeship—there was never that curl of warmth in his belly, the rush of anticipation in his whole being that made Rand’s heart quicken.

And Egwene. She had always had a different effect on him. Honestly, since they’d been old enough that the village folk had begun mutters of promising and marriage and braids, seeing Egwene had always engendered in him a bit of terror. He loved her, that was true, and easy to say, but her company had always felt awkward in a way he couldn’t identify.

The sight of her had never flushed his cheeks, and thoughts of her had never... well. _Stirred_ him.

Color did reach Rand’s cheeks as he thought about the journey to Caemlyn with Mat, and the not too distant times when they’d shared a bed, when they’d danced...

Speaking of things being stirred, Rand hastily pushed the thoughts away and let his head thunk down on the wooden rail of the balcony.

Well, he supposed that answered _that_ , but not Mat’s behavior. The paranoia, the suspicion, that was easy enough. Darkfriends and Myrrdral were after them, and they’d been found and chased enough to make even Rand look askance at the most innocent seeming of folk. But Mat had always been a butterfly, flitting from person to person and charming the lot of them. He was the kind of person who smiled and you just had to smile back, who could light up a room with a joke. Who could play every kind of trick imaginable on the same people for nearly twenty years and still get out of the worst of it with a handful of words and casual touches.

Mat had never turned that sort of attention on Rand before, though, had he? Well, he’d certainly never _had_ to. Rand was often in on the mischief, but rarely the target of it. Even Perrin got the butt end of a few tricks, though less often now that he was the size of a small house, but not Rand.

Come to think of it, whenever Rand showed up in the village proper, Mat seemed to materialize, regardless of where he should have been at the time, or what he was doing. They stayed wrapped in each other’s company for the duration of Rand’s visit, even when Egwene offered invitations of walks or a lunch out on the Green.

Rand’s brow furrowed. Had he _ever_ taken Egwene up on one of those invitations when Mat was around? Often enough, Mat and Perrin joined them, but he’d rarely gone alone. Why would he when he had—

Some of the blood drained from Rand’s face, and he swallowed hard.

“Mat,” he said aloud, finishing the thought.

Why indeed would he take Egwene up on an offer to picnic alone when he had Mat right there beside him, and a perfectly ridiculous scheme to execute?

And Mat had almost always been there. Always come running to the farm when Rand was sick or laid up with a twisted ankle, always sat with him around the anniversary of his mother’s death, quiet and close enough to touch. Always shared his food, his stories, his ideas. Always let Rand babble on about the book he’d gotten from the peddler, or the tale that Tam had told him just that week. Always, _always_ come out from whatever he was doing, no matter the import, to come and greet Rand when he arrived at the village.

Mat talked about girls, and what he got up to with them, and even the occasional boy, but when he was with Rand, he’d never hared off to leave his side, unless it was accompanied by a _‘Watch this, Rand!’_ Or _‘Bet you I can get her to go pinch us some honey cakes, Rand.’_ Or _‘No, really, five minutes and he’ll be offering to go show me a new ‘horse’ in the stables, just you wait, Rand.’_

But he’d never held Rand’s hand, or kissed the top of his head, or danced with him, or wrapped arms around him while they slept.

Or held a knife to a woman’s throat with every intention of using it because she had threatened Rand’s life.

Slowly, Rand turned his back to the stone rail, and slid down to sit on the floor of the balcony, pipe cold and forgotten in his fist.

For no reason Rand could identify, his eyes and nose burned, and he blinked away the sensation, rubbing vigorously at his face and sniffing to clear it away.

 _Light_ , he was confused. Rand almost wished that a trolloc would burst out of the shrubbery. At least then he would know what to _do_.

Later, after he’d pulled himself together, he’d ventured down to the library where Master Gill was losing a game of stones to Loial the Ogier. Light, that was still a strange thought.

“Rand!” Rumbled the deep voice of the Ogier, like distant thunder. “It is good to see you returned. You seemed to have much on your mind when you left.”

“Oh, did he!” Said Master Gill distractedly, glancing up at Rand from their game before looking back down.

“Indeed,” Loial said. “He hardly listened to my tale of my first lessons on tree-singing at all. But now he is back. Would you like to join me for a game, Rand al’Thor? I believe we will be finished soon.”

Master Gill shot Loial a dirty look at the comment, but then it morphed into one of resignation.

“I dare say Loial is right, Rand. Third game I’ll be losing this week!” Master Gill harrumphed. “I’ll get him yet, though, just you wait.” He shook a finger at the huge Ogier. “But where are my manners. Did you need somethi—Oh!” Master Gill stopped when he finally looked fully at Rand’s face. “Dear boy, are you alright?”

Rand blinked dumbly, but cursed internally. He’d thought he had a handle on himself, but the void couldn’t do anything for his red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, yes,” Rand lied. “Just been some time since I’ve had a pipe, is all. Coughing, you know.” Rand shuffled his feet and took a deep breath. He was no coward. “Has—has Mat been down from his room, at all?”

Master Gill was shaking his head. “No, but he did send for a wash basin not too long ago. If he’s still feeling unwell I can have Cook prepare a bit of broth and bread, she won’t mind. Much,” Master Gill added under his breath.

“No, that’s...” Rand thought of Mat’s pale face and haunted eyes when he’d left him that afternoon. “Well, thank you, actually. I’ll let you know if Mat needs something later. I really can’t thank you enough for all the trouble you’re putting yourself up to to help us,”

Master Gill waved a hand like it was nothing. “Least I can do, really. Thom’s an old friend, old friend, indeed.”

With a nod and a small smile and wave for Loial, Rand left the library, and made his way upstairs toward Mat’s room.

* * *

Standing outside the door to the room that he and Mat shared, Rand tried to decide what, if anything, he was going to say. Or, light help him, _ask_.

Starting with knocking and asking how Mat was doing would be enough to be getting on with, if he could muster up the bloody courage to lift his fool hand and knock.

“Blood and ashes,” he muttered, and rapped on the door. “Mat?”

When there was no answer, he knocked again and waited a moment before reaching for the handle. He opened a stretch to peer inside. “Mat, it’s Rand, are you—”

His words were cut off when a strong hand gripped his collar and yanked him inside, lifted him inches off the floor and slammed him against the wall.

The breath left Rand in a whoosh of pain on impact, and when he blinked his eyes to clear the spots from his vision, it was to see the point of a dagger glinting only inches from his eye.

 _“Mat?”_ Rand gasped out in shock.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the knifepoint was gone, and his feet hit the floor. Rand staggered a step, but caught himself on the wall. He nearly staggered again at the sight that greeted him.

Mat, clad only in his breeches, stood not three feet away from him, chest heaving and eyes wide, ruby-hilted dagger clutched tightly in one fist.

For a moment, Rand was sure Mat was going to attack him again, but then Mat’s eyes widened further and he let the dagger fall from his hand with a cry, backing away from it as if it were a spitting snake.

“Light, _Mat_ ,” Rand took a wary step toward his friend. “You scared me half to death. I had no idea you were so strong,” he muttered, rubbing at where his shirt collar had dug into his skin.

Mat said nothing as he backed up until he hit the opposite wall, pressing his hands against it like they might reach out of their own accord if he did not reign them in.

All the while, Rand saw, Mat’s horrified eyes were fixed on the dagger.

“Mat?” Rand asked again, moving a few steps closer. “Are you alright?”

Mat flinched, and with what looked like an effort of will, wrenched his eyes away from the dagger to look at Rand. Mingled relief and fear filled Mat’s expression.

“Rand?” He asked, the sound thready.

“Mat,” Rand said, instead of answering. “Light, what hap—”

His words were cut off as Mat flung himself from the wall into Rand’s chest, naked arms grasping him around neck and back. Rand stood with his own arms splayed stupidly, too shocked for a moment to do anything else. Then, bewildered, he slowly closed his arms around Mat’s shuddering body.

Trying not to think about the feeling of damp, naked skin beneath his hands, Rand rubbed Mat’s back briskly as they embraced.

“Mat, Light, what’s gotten into you? Did something happen?”

“They’re everywhere,” Mat said in a shaky voice. “I thought they got in, waiting outside the door after I got the wash water, I couldn’t leave, I thought maybe they’d gotten you, and I was the only one left.”

Rand was perplexed by Mat’s barely coherent babbling, and tried to make soothing noises as he listened. Rand had only been gone maybe two hours, if that. Had Mat had a nightmare? Ba’alz’amon, maybe?

“We haven’t been able to get away from them anywhere, and—and I don’t know, when you knocked and I heard your voice, I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe that someone was copying your voice, can they _do_ that? And I-I don’t know how I, I just... you came through and, _Light_ , the dagger, it all happened so _fast_ , Rand.”

Rand was about to speak when Mat gasped, and Rand felt Mat’s body convulse, his grip tightening nearly to the point of pain.

“I _almost killed you,_ ” came Mat’s horrified whisper against Rand’s neck, and Rand had barely a second to process that before he was released so suddenly that he tripped back a step.

Rand watched in consternation and growing concern as Mat stumbled over to a waste bin and retched violently. He could only watch while Mat emptied his stomach, finally stepping over when Mat slumped beside the bin. Stopping at the wash basin Mat must have been using earlier, he wet a cloth before crouching down next to his shivering friend.

“Hey, it’s fine. _I’m_ fine. You didn’t hurt me,” Rand thought of the bruises he was likely going to have on his back in the morning. “Not _really_. Just startled me, is all. Here,” Rand said, wiping the clammy sweat away from Mat’s forehead. He wasn’t fevered, thank the light. Maybe it was what Rand had been sick with yesterday. Maybe he should call for a Wisdom; Master Gill surely knew of one.

Rand was dabbing at the back of Mat’s neck before he realized he could have handed the cloth to Mat for him to do it himself. Heat flushed his cheeks; he hadn’t even considered it, not with that look on Mat’s face.

“Blood and bloody ashes,” Mat muttered, and closed his eyes, leaning into Rand’s touch a little. “Rand, I’m so sorry. I was just—and you weren’t—Blood and ashes,” Mat said again, and gave a great shudder.

“Here, come on,” Rand said, standing up and offering Mat a hand, which he took. “I’ll send for some wine from Master Gill, you sit down.”

Mat nodded dumbly, still wide eyed with lingering horror at what he believed he’d nearly done.

 _No, Mat would never. Not on purpose,_ Rand thought.

Rand stopped by where the dagger lay bared on the floor, and bent to pick it up and return it to the sheath, wherever it was, but was brought up short by Mat’s panicked shout.

“Don’t touch it!”

Rand spun around to see Mat nearly on him, bending down to scoop up the dagger and spirit it into its sheath where it lay by the wash basin. In only a few quick movements, almost faster than Rand could follow, the dagger was hidden away beneath Mat’s folded tunic, Mat himself hunched over and gripping the wash basin like he might be sick, again.

Thinking better of saying anything at all, Rand just poked his head out of the door, relieved to see that one of the kitchen maids was already halfway up the stairs to the attic room he and Mat were sharing. After a short conversation with the insistent young woman, Rand retrieved the soiled waste bin and handed it off.

Rand stood, watching the muscles in Mat’s back ripple as his fists clenched and unclenched on the sides of the wash basin, his earlier thoughts about Mat replaced with newer ones of worry.

 _That must have been some nightmare._ Rand shivered in empathy.

Being sure to step loudly as he moved, Rand approached Mat and laid a hand on his back. The other man flinched, but otherwise didn’t make a move away.

“Hey,” said Rand. “Come sit down. We’ll have some wine soon, get that taste out of your mouth.”

Mat’s smile was humorless as he flicked his eyes up to Rand’s, but he allowed himself to be lead over to one of the narrow beds; Rand couldn’t remember whose.

When they were both seated, Mat hunched over, elbows on knees and head hanging low. Rand reached out a hand without thinking and settled it in the sweat dampened nape of Mat’s neck, gently kneading muscles knotted with tension.

Mat shivered once, and then seemed to sag a little more.

“Light, Rand, I’m glad it was you. I’m sorry I… but I’m just bloody glad you’re here.”

“Master Gill runs a good place, here. I don’t think a darkfriend would make it past Lamgwin,” Rand paused. “I don’t think a stray cat would make it past Lamgwin, really.”

“We’ve been fooled before,” Mat said in a low voice, some unidentifiable emotion tensing him up again.

“Hey,” Rand gave his neck a squeeze. “Just relax for a minute. You nearly scared the piss out of me, but it _was_ me. You dropped the knife as soon as you saw my face, and if it had been a darkfriend, well, I think you’d have had them good.”

Mat mumbled something rude in response, but dropped his head further forward to give Rand better access to his neck and back, obviously unwilling to talk about it just now. Rand rolled his eyes, but continued rubbing the tension out of Mat’s neck until the wine came.

Rand took it and the light supper that accompanied it with a grateful word to the maid, and a wish to send his compliments to both Cook and Master Gill, along with a request that they not be disturbed for a while.

“Come on,” said Rand, nudging Mat with the toe of his boot as he held out the wine. “Quit moping and drink.”

Mat gave him a sullen look and said “I’m not _moping_ ,” but reached for a goblet all the same.

Rand rolled his eyes and went to go toe off his boots by the door. When he turned around, he finally took in Mat’s full appearance as he hadn’t when there had been a knife in his face.

Mat’s skin was pale from neck to wrists and down his chest from a long winter in Emond’s Field working mostly with his shirt on, but their work on the road had been taxing enough that they’d both forgone shirts a number of times in spite of the chill, so he didn't have the ridiculous lines both of them usually had when Spring came.

Weeks of hard travel and rough living had taken what little fat had padded Mat’s frame, showing the wiry muscles of his friend’s body as if etched beneath his skin. The sparse hair Mat had always had on his chest seemed to have all but vanished with the hard use their bodies had seen, leaving only the light trail of dark hair that disappeared into Mat’s— _Light help him_ —partially unlaced breeches.

Realizing he was staring, and that this probably wasn’t the best time, he jerked his gaze away and quickly went to fill his own goblet. He drained half of it at the pitcher before refilling it and bringing it over to where Mat sat on his bed, staring into his own barely touched wine.

The toll of their travels was writ stark on Mat’s face. His eyes were almost sunken, bruises smudging the lower lids, and the look in them was... lost.

Light, and Rand had been staring at him like some lecher.

Quietly, Rand sat down next to Mat and bumped shoulders with him. “Thought I told you to stop moping,” he said, without any real effort at humor.

Mat was still for a moment, then said with what sounded like defeat. “I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t,” Rand replied firmly.

Shaking his head once, Mat tossed back the wine in the goblet in a long, continuous swallow.

Rand passed Mat his own full goblet with sympathy, turned to sit cross legged on the bed, and faced his friend.

“What’s going on, Mat? Did something happen? A nightmare? Was it... _him_?”

Mat shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of wine.

“I almost wish it was, then I could... could _wake up_. It just feels like we can’t get _away_ , Rand, like any second they’ll find us and we’ll be running again, or this time they’ll get us. I look at everyone, even Master Gill, and I just wonder if they’re a darkfriend, too, and it won’t _stop_ ,” said Mat plaintively. “Light, I can’t make myself stop _thinking_ , Rand. I feel trapped.”

Mat fisted his hands in his hair a moment, then sat up and turned to him, eyes anguished. “It’s like I can only see the light when—”

Stopping abruptly, mouth still open, Mat shut it with a click as his cheeks flushed with color, then jerked his head away and hid his face in his goblet.

“When, what?” Rand prompted, bemused.

His friend toyed with the goblet in his hands, and looked to be thinking hard about something.

“When I—when I’m with you,” Mat admitted, quietly.

Rand’s stomach did a funny little dance inside of him.

“Me?” He asked, dumbly.

Mat’s color deepened, but his mouth took on a more determined set. He didn’t meet Rand’s eyes, but he spoke with more confidence.

“Yeah, _you_ , Rand al’Thor. Sometimes, it’s... it’s like I’m surrounded by this fog, and shadows, like it was in—in Shadar Logoth, and every time I turn a corner I’m expecting a Fade to leap out at me. But then... when _you’re_ there with me, it’s like the fog pulls back, and I can see, and _think_ , and I remember what it’s like to laugh.”

Rand took all that in, opened his mouth to say something, couldn’t think of anything that quite fit, and settled on: “Oh.”

To his surprise, Mat snorted, spraying a bit of wine onto his naked chest.

“You see?” Mat laughed, wiping at the drops. Rand hastily averted his eyes. “Here I am talking like some fool Gleeman about light and shadow and then you come out with that. _‘Oh’_! Blood and ashes, Rand, you are _bad_ at this.”

“Thanks,” Rand said drily. “Sorry, it’s not—I guess I understand what you mean? I just don’t think I’m anything special. You’re just... Mat Cauthon, my best friend. I’d never let anything happen to you, not if I could help it.”

Mat shook his head, giving at Rand an odd look. “I almost just _killed_ you. Rand, if I’d hurt you, I don’t know—”

The words stopped and Mat swallowed hard. He looked Rand in the face, “Light, Rand, I’d have died without you a dozen times over. I’m so bloody _sorry_.”

The moment stretched, and Rand thought about saying something, but Mat was right. He _was_ bad at this.

Following an impulse, Rand scooted closer and half reached for Mat’s hand, before thinking better of it and pulling back. Mat snatched it with his own before he could, though, and threaded their fingers together. Rand watched the color creeping down Mat’s chest, knowing his own face was doing the same, but he didn’t let go.

They sat like that for a few moments, Mat staring into the wine, Rand staring at Mat. This was... this was _not_ where he thought any of this was going.

Setting the goblet aside, Mat turned and mirrored Rand on the bed, their knees touching. Rand’s eyes were wide, his face burning with heat, and he let Mat take his other hand, too, entwining their fingers together without making a sound for fear of what might come out of his mouth. _Please hold my hand forever it’s really quite nice_ at the top of the list.

Light, he’d only just figured out what was going on in his own fool head not half an hour ago; Rand was out of his depth _entirely_.

His heart felt like it might beat out of his chest, like he’d run from here to Baerlon. Palms damp with sweat, Rand’s eyes darted from Mat’s still down turned face to the quick rise and fall of his bare chest, nipples dark and taut.

Rand’s breathing hitched, and he squeezed Mat’s hands probably tighter than was friendly, tearing his eyes away before he embarrassed himself further. Things were getting a little snug in places he wasn’t about to mention.

Mat finally looked up at him, his brown eyes narrowed with determination, pupils slightly dilated and utterly fathomless.

Those eyes spelled Rand’s doom. Maybe a good doom, though? Light, why couldn’t he stop _thinking!_

“Is—is this...?” Mat started, and Rand nodded quickly, silently, mouth too dry for words.

Feeling Mat squeeze back, Rand relaxed his grip, allowing Mat to disentangled one hand, reaching out. Reaching.

Mat’s hand touched his face, a gentle stroke with just the tips of his fingers, tracing from eyebrow down the curve of Rand’s shaven cheek.

Rand closed his eyes and tried not to die on the spot.

Those fingers cupped the side of his face, four burning lines of ecstasy, and Rand couldn’t breathe. A thumb brushed against his lips and Rand gasped, lips parting. Eyes still closed, because if he opened them he’d have to acknowledge this was probably all a dream, he gripped Mat’s other hand like it was the only thing between him and the Dark One—Light, it might be, at that—he was embarrassingly hard inside his breeches and blood and _bloody, flaming, burning ashes_ —

“Rand,” came a voice from directly in front of him, and his eyes snapped open. Mat’s face was inches from his own, lips parted, pupils blown wide, the thinnest ring of brown inside eyes that he’d once feared would be blind forever, and getting closer, closer.

Mat kissed him, so gently Rand could have cried.

It was like every nerve he possessed lighting up and surging to the point of contact, Mat’s hand on his face, Mat’s lips on his.

Oh, Light, Mat was _kissing_ him.

Another hand came up and settled on the back of his neck, and Rand closed his eyes, remembering this from somewhere, except now Mat’s lips were moving against his and it wasn’t so important where.

Rand’s hands were sitting like useless lumps, palms up on his knees, and he had absolutely every idea of what to do with them, but he wasn’t sure that moving wouldn’t make Mat stop so he didn’t do anything, and Light _Mat_ was _kissing him_. Mat’s hand threaded into Rand’s hair, and oh, that was nice, but then he pulled away— _no, no, why_ —and pressed their foreheads together.

They were both panting for breath.

“If you don’t start kissing me back,” Mat’s voice was ragged. “I’m gonna get the wrong idea, Rand.”

Oh.

Like the words had given his body permission to move, Rand surged forward and quite literally crawled into Mat’s lap, careless of their disparity in height. If he could have crawled inside his skin, at that moment, he would have.

Mat made a startled noise, but Rand was on him. Rand pushed both hands into Mat’s hair, fingers snaking up through the damp curls at the bottom and into the soft, yielding waves. His moment of boldness ebbing, Rand watched Mat’s eyes as he bent to bring. their mouths together, more hesitant than gentle, as Mat had been.

Mat made a noise low in his throat, and then Rand had arms around him, pulling him flush against Mat’s naked chest and pressing their mouths together. Rand moaned into Mat’s lips when the hard muscles of Mat’s stomach pressed up against the bulge in his breeches, and Mat’s mouth opened like he wanted to swallow the sound.

When Mat’s tongue pressed against his lips, Rand faltered, and realized rather abruptly that he had _no idea what he was doing_.

He was sitting on his best friend’s lap—both of them, if the thing poking against the seat of his breeches was any indication, hard as steel—and Mat had just... _licked_ him.

It was Rand who pulled back this time, the fading afternoon light making everything a bit hazy in his vision. He watched as a thin thread of saliva connecting his mouth to Mat’s stretched and then broke, blinking slowly and stupidly as he stared down into Mat’s eyes.

“So, _not_ the wrong idea,” Mat said hoarsely, the beginning of a grin stretching his mouth.

Blinking dazedly, Rand released his grip on Mat’s hair and let his hands slide down to rest on his broad shoulders. Rand could hardly think with the way Mat’s every breath was like a caress against his groin, and shook his head in response to Mat’s statement.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I was fourteen,” Mat admitted, a weirdly shy smile on his face.

“Um,” Rand replied, closing his eyes and trying not to rub himself against Mat like a randy goat.

“You...” Mat trailed off and Rand cracked an eye to see Mat’s own eyes widening in shock and epiphany. “You’ve never—blood and _ashes_ , you’ve never kissed anyone before!”

Rand winced. It was an accusation as much as an observation, and a correct one, burn him.

“ _Um_ ,” he said again, feeling his cheeks heating up, this time with embarrassment rather than ardor. Did they have to talk about this while Rand was _sitting_ on him?

“Oh, Rand,” Mat smiled, a familiar mischievous tilt the only warning Rand had before Mat shifted beneath him, gripped Rand with one arm under his arse—Rand _might_ have yelped—the other around Rand’s back, and actually lifted him as he walked backward on his knees. The movement crushed his, yes, thank you, _still_ hard cock against Mat’s belly, and Rand let out a strangled sound, clutching Mat’s shoulders.

Mat settled himself into the more comfortable position, legs stretched out beneath Rand where he straddled Mat’s hips, back propped against the wooden headboard, hands settled in a light grip at Rand’s waist.

“Better?” Rand asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, so I _didn’t_ manage to kiss the wits out of you,” Mat grinned up at him. Sitting on him, Rand had an entire head of height on the already shorter man. Mat didn’t seem to mind.

“For a minute there, yes,” Rand admitted, cheeks still flushed from Mat’s touches, but deepening further.

“Hmm,” Mat purred, his hands rubbing up and down Rand’s sides in small, leisurely motions. Rand watched his friend’s eyes travel down his face to rest on his lips. “First kiss, huh,” Mat said, a predatory, almost smug look on his face.

“Y-yes,” Rand gasped out when Mat’s thumb ghosted over a taut nipple.

Mat’s hand’s continued their ministrations, and Rand trembled, eyes closed and wondering if he was going to wake up, hoping he never did.

All the fear, and pain, and confusion of the past weeks, but now Rand got to have _this?_ It was almost too much.

“You okay?” Mat asked, reaching up to where one of Rand’s hands rested on Mat’s shoulder, gripping it gently and turning it over to kiss the palm.

Too many things flooded through Rand at that moment. His body, his heart, his _soul_. The sound he made must have been pathetic, something between a grunt and a sob, because Mat immediately sat forward and wrapped his arms around him.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Mat soothed into his ear, kissing the top of Rand’s shoulder through his shirt, then the side of his neck. “I’ve got you. Light, Rand, I should’ve done this years ago. First bloody kiss, _burn_ me, I’m an idiot.”

“ _Hnnn_ ,” Rand moaned, his hands dancing uncertainly over the muscles of Mat’s back. “N-never seemed important,” Rand gasped when Mat’s lips worked their way to his jaw.

“Never seemed—you’re ridiculous.” Mat panted as he nuzzled Rand’s jaw, “I just— _Light_ , Rand, look at you. I could kiss you for days.” Mat emphasized his claim with a firm press of his lips to Rand’s, mercifully without any tongue.

“Oh,” Rand said breathlessly, when Mat pulled away, leaning back against the headboard.

“Sorry, I should stop. D’You want to stop?” Mat asked, looking up at Rand’s through the fringe of his shaggy curls, his hands snaking down Rand’s arms to thread fingers through Rand’s own.

“Kissing?” Rand asked, baffled. Mat wanted to stop? Who would ever want to stop kissing Mat? He’d only done it once and it was already his new favorite thing.

Mat hummed in the affirmative, bringing Rand’s hand up to his face so he could nuzzle it, kissing Rand’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth.

Rand’s hips bucked and he made an undignified sound that had Mat humming contentedly around the digit, a sensation that sent Rand’s wits straight out the window.

“Oh _Light_ yes more kissing, please,” Rand said in a rush, trying to restrain his jerking hips as he watched his thumb moving in and out of Mat’s mouth.

Mat released the digit with a light _‘pop’_ , and brought Rand’s hand down to settle splayed in the center of his chest. Mat wasn’t a small man by any stretch of the word—Rand had known that without sitting on the evidence—but Rand’s hand looked huge against Mat’s chest, his thumb and smallest finger spanning the space between nipples easily, Mat’s saliva leaving wet trails on already sweat and wine damp skin.

“Just—” Mat sucked in a breath when Rand swirled that wetness around a nipple, “ _—Light_ , yes—Just kissing, yeah? Don’t want to move too fast,” Mat gasped, bucking a little beneath Rand when he pinched the nipple he’d been teasing.

“Yeah,” Rand said, distractedly, watching the way Mat’s face moved when he caressed his chest. That was where he’d put Rand’s hand, so he must want it there, right?

Rand shifted on top of Mat and the other man let out a groan.

“Okay, okay, stop for a second, Light, or I’m going to embarrass myself,” Mat panted.

Rand blinked down at him a moment in confusion before blushing furiously. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t—”

Mat put a finger against his lips to stop him making any more of a fool of himself. “You’re fine, Rand, better than fine. Just... Light, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Just—give me a second, alright? Here, budge up, you giant, lie down a minute.”

Rand lifted himself off of Mat, following his lead and lay down on his side, facing Mat as he did the same. The delicious pressure was off his cock, now, but that meant parts of his brain were beginning to start working again, and he blushed down to his toes.

This was real, he was— _Light_. With _Mat_.

“That’s better,” Mat sighed, and Rand tensed. “Not like that, bloody ashes, you’re adorable,” Mat laughed, wriggling closer to Rand so their faces nearly touched, one hand settled possessively on Rand’s waist, thumb making tiny sweeps across his ribs.

“I am not adorable,” Rand said without thinking, face still afire. “I’m—I’m handsome, and tall, and virile—”

Mat’s eyes danced as he let the back of that hand drop to brush against the bulge in Rand’s breeches before resuming its perch. Rand gasped.

“Those too,” he hummed.

Rand retaliated by flicking Mat’s nipple, making him gasp.

“Alright, alright. Now, light help me, slow down. I’m trying not to take advantage of you, here,” said Mat moving both hands to link fingers around the back of Rand’s neck and rest their foreheads together.

Rand’s brain felt like it might be working again, a bit.

“You can’t take advantage of me,” Rand said with mock seriousness, placing a hand on Mat’s leanly muscled chest. “I’m taller than you.”

“I’m better at wrestling,” Mat countered, mouth cracking a grin.

“I’ve got a sword,” Rand retorted.

“I’ve got a—”

Rand winced, and Mat choked on the unsaid word.

“Burn me,” Rand said, moving his hand around Mat’s back in a partial embrace. “That was a stupid thing to say, Light, I’m sorry, Mat, I should’ve—”

“Shh,” Mat said, moving a hand from Rand’s neck to press fingers to his lips. “Just—” Mat’s eyes closed. “Kiss me and make it better?” Mat joked, though his eyes opened to a look of honest pleading, like he truly believed Rand could do it.

Rand reached out the way Mat had, tracing the line of his lightly stubbled jaw from eyebrow to chin, keeping his eyes locked on Mat’s while he did so, hoping the look of wonder on his own face was enough to show Mat just how much this trust meant to him. Rand watched, and splayed his fingers, brushing Mat’s lips with his thumb.

The memory of the dagger clouded over, replaced with the here and now, with this. Rand watched, and felt swallowed up as Mat’s focus narrowed to just him, to Rand al’Thor, no room for past or future.

Rand kissed him, gently, and again. Then he let Mat show him how much better it could get.

Kissing could, apparently, get a _lot_ better.


	3. 3

After eating the bread, cheese, and chicken that had been sent up hours before, they’d returned to the bed, neither of them feeling any desire to leave the room just yet, even if it had not been approaching midnight.

Rand lay with his head against Mat’s chest, sleepy and content in a way he didn’t think he’d ever been, even when they’d all been safe in Emond’s Field, and trollocs had been the stuff of tales and not reality. If Mat felt anything other than the same, Rand couldn’t tell, and every brush of Mat’s fingers through his mussed hair sent pleasant tingles down his spine.

“Hey,” said Mat, the vibration rumbling through Rand’s cheek. “You awake?”

Rand hummed an affirmative.

“We should, ah,” Mat cleared his throat and Rand tilted his head to look at him sleepily. “We should talk about... this.”

a

Brow furrowed, Rand blinked away the half daze Mat’s fingers had put him in, and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“This?” Rand quirked an eyebrow.

Mat’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like _‘light save me from a virgin Rand al’Thor.’_

“Yes, Rand,” Mat said patiently. “You, me, kissing.” He waved a hand between them. “ _This_.”

“Ah,” Rand said. “Okay,” he swallowed, his stomach clenching a little. “What’s to talk about?”

Mat reached out and grabbed Rand’s hand where it was plucking nervously at the bedclothes. “Stop worrying, burn you. I’m not going ravish you, or kick you out of bed or anything, Light.” Mat kissed Rand’s somewhat scarred knuckles before using the arm to pull Rand up beside him, the both of them now sitting against the head of the bed.

“Just...” Mat sighed and turned his head to nuzzle his face into Rand’s hair for a moment. “Light, Rand. We’re on the run from Fades and darkfriends that want to kill us, we’ve lost an Aes Sedai, a warder, a Gleeman, our two best friends, and the Wisdom; now we’re being put up at an inn in bloody Caemlyn on the word of that dead Gleeman, and... and we’re _making time_ with each other.”

The thought of everyone else sent a pang through Rand, especially Thom, but Rand couldn’t help but huff a laugh at the end of Mat’s summary.

Grabbing Mat’s hand, Rand looked down at the entwined fingers and couldn’t suppress a smile.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” he said in the same voice Moiraine used, brushing his thumb across the side of Mat’s when he was done,

An elbow poked him in the ribs, and Rand laughed aloud.

“Funny,” Mat drawled. “I’m serious, though. As... as nice as this is, Rand. Are you okay with this? What do we do now?”

Pushing down the distraction he felt just feeling Mat’s skin against his, Rand considered the situation for a minute.

It was a little absurd, what they were doing, but... not ridiculous, he didn’t think. Rand hadn’t imagined the way Lan and Nynaeve had been posturing at one another like courting birds before they’d been separated at Shadar Logoth, so it wasn’t as if they were doing anything extraordinary, or wrong.

There was Egwene, but she... wasn’t for him, as Min would have said. It was still a bit of a shock to Rand that anything was happening between he and Mat at all, but that was more Rand being a blind idiot than anything else. It all felt a bit unreal, like Rand might say the wrong words Mat would leap out of the bed and never speak to him again, or worse, get bored of him.

“Have you really wanted to kiss me since you were fourteen?” asked Rand, glancing at Mat out of the corner of his eye.

Mat huffed a laugh and squeezed Rand’s hand. “At least. I mean, at least that’s when I... thought of you as someone that could be kissed, and not just Rand al’Thor, best friend in the Two Rivers.”

“What happened?” Rand asked curiously, shifting to lean his side against the wall and headboard so he could look at Mat.

“You remember when we were moving those hay bales in your Da’s stables that summer it was hot enough to cook an egg on a stone?” Mat asked, and Rand grimaced at the memory before nodding. “Well, remember how I was the one up in the loft, and you were down the ladder moving the bales after I dropped them, and there was all that loose hay in the loft?”

Rand grimaced harder. He knew _exactly_ the occasion Mat was talking about.

“And you called me over to the ladder because you said you’d found something, and pushed a mountain of hay down the ladder, nearly burying me?”

Mat laughed aloud at the memory. “Light, you came up out of the hay looking like a porcupine, it sticking out of your hair and stuck to you all over the place! You were furious!”

“We were going to have to clean it all up, and you’d just dropped a mountain of hay on me!” Rand exclaimed in exasperation. “I itched for a week! What about that equates to _‘Mat Cauthon wants to kiss Rand al’Thor?’_ ”

Mat’s chuckles died away, and his eyes softened as he looked at Rand with such fondness that Rand’s insides did the wriggling thing they’d been doing on and off now for hours.

“You were furious,” Mat agreed. “And I was hanging half out of the loft laughing my fool head off at you, and then I saw your face change.” Mat reached out and touched Rand’s cheek, thumb brushing his dimples. “Right here, you got this look like, you were still mad and would probably thump me a bit but you were smiling a little, too.”

“I _did_ thump you,” Rand said, closing his eyes and leaning into Mat’s caress.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t—you didn’t act like everyone else would have. When you smiled up at me, like you didn’t even know you were doing it, I just knew you’d already forgiven me, and I...” Mat cleared his throat. “I remember thinking, lying there laughing my guts out, how I’d like to push you back down into that straw and kiss you, because I wanted to know what that smile felt like.”

Rand turned his head and kissed Mat’s palm, squeezing the hand he still held in his own.

“I didn’t know I wanted to kiss you until it was happening,” Rand admitted.

Mat burst out laughing, and Rand glared at him a bit.

“Of course you didn’t,” Mat said, letting his head fall back to thunk against the wall behind the bed. “Bloody first kiss, I can’t believe it.”

“I was serious when I said it hadn’t seemed important,” Rand huffed, letting go of Mat’s hand to push himself up and back so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Fine, Fine,” Mat said, his laughter petering out. “Why not?”

Hunching his shoulders a little, Rand shrugged. “I don’t know. I just never really think of anyone like that. Even when I saw you kissing someone, it was something that people just... did, sometimes, like dancing. It never occurred to me that someone—that you might...”

“Want to kiss _you_?” Mat finished for him with a hint of incredulity.

Rand shrugged again, feeling heat in his cheeks. “I guess there were a couple times people were aiming for it, now that I think on it, but...” he trailed off and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.

“A couple times?” Mat exclaimed, like he was offended. “Light, Rand, people dragged you off into stables and behind barns often enough, Nynaeve thought you’d snogged half the village!”

A twist of inexplicable shame curled his insides, and Rand fought the urge to draw his knees up to his chest. Mat must have noticed, because he put an arm around Rand’s shoulders and pulled his head close to kiss the side of it with an exasperated sigh.

“ _I_ didn’t think that, you numpty,” Mat sounded offended. “I know you don’t like being touched by most people, even dancing, and I definitely knew most of those twits dragging you off never got so much as a peck on the cheek. But I never thought—Egwene, at least!”

Rand relaxed a little, but shrugged once again. “I love Egwene, but all the talk of promising and marriage and all that, it just,” Rand shifted. “Terrified me a bit, to be honest. It never really made any sense to me, being with her, like that, or—or with anyone.”

Mat didn’t say anything for a minute. Rand cast a quick glance at him, and he had the pensive look he got when he was calculating odds, or putting together a good cover story for some prank or other.

“Mat?” Rand asked, quietly.

The other man gave Rand’s shoulder an absent rub, shaking his head. “Sorry, just trying to... straighten it all out in my head. I just, I know you, Rand. Better than anyone except Tam, I’d guess. I get it, now that I’ve actually bothered to think about it for a few seconds.” Mat huffed a laugh. “I’m an idiot, is what i am.”

“You’re not an idiot,” said Rand, pressing himself against Mat’s side. “I’m just a freak.”

Mat pinched Rand, for that, shot him a look of reproach. “You’re nothing of the sort. If you hadn’t noticed, your Da’s the same way, or did you see him slapping backs and courting every widow in sight?”

Tam’s fevered words came back to him, and Rand deliberately pushed them out of his mind. Not the time. Then Rand’s mouth twisted at the thought of Tam doing... anything, really. It was just as foreign to him as literally anyone except Mat doing it.

“He loved my mother, I don’t think he wants to replace her.”

Mat made a noise of agreement. “Right, and, no offense to your Da, because he’s the best man I know, but he’s not really a hugger, is he?”

Rand just shrugged in response; it didn’t bother him. “Never has been. I think he may have, with my mother, but aside from riding his shoulders a bit when I was little, and sometimes he’d hug me when I came back after he’d thought I was lost—usually with you—but not like Master Louhan, or Mistress al’Vere.”

“Exactly, and you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, do you?”

Rand squirmed. “I guess not.”

“So there you have it.” Mat’s smile was satisfied. “You’re not a freak,” he said, and kissed Rand’s shoulder.

“But I’m supposed to get married, sometime, aren’t I? Bid out by the women’s circle like a stallion for stud, no matter that I never even—and the only person that doesn’t make me feel—” Rand tried to find words, but couldn’t. He felt like he was blushing so hard his face might be redder than his hair

Mat was staring, patient, and Rand made a frustrated sound.

“It’s _different_ with—with you,” he said lamely.

The blush must be catching, because Mat’s cheeks pinked.

“I, ah, I guessed it might be,” said Mat. “I mean, I was never sure, because for the last few years we haven’t exactly seen a lot of each other, but I thought maybe if I... tested it out...” Mat trailed off at Rand’s look of astonishment.

“That’s what all this has been about!” Rand exclaimed, turning his body and sitting up on his knees to poke Mat in the chest. “You—you were _experimenting_ on me!”

Mat sat up too. “Well I wasn’t just going to climb into your bed!”

“You did that, too!” Rand said, exasperated.

“We only had the one bed, sometimes!” Mat started, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, that was a bad example, and not the point.”

“ _Not the—_ ” Rand mouthed the words, but Mat ignored him.

“But I—Light, Rand. This is the first time I’ve had you to myself in years, and back in Emond’s Field, there was Egwene, and—” Mat licked his lips nervously. “I mean you would dance with her, and sometimes you’d hug her, though you’d get that kind of pinched look on your face—”

Rand thought about hugging Egwene, and made a face.

“Yeah, that one,” Mat said, and evaded the whack Rand aimed at him. “What I’m saying is, we’re not in Emond’s Field anymore, and Egwene isn’t here, and I thought maybe... maybe this was my chance.”

Rand didn’t understand. He’d always been close to Mat, even when Mat was fooling around with just about everyone else that caught his fancy not married or promised. Was that what this was? Mat thought he couldn’t do… _things_ with Rand because of Egwene, so he jumped at the opportunity when it looked like Rand wouldn’t toss him out of bed because of his touching thing?

Rand felt a bit sick.

“Your... chance,” he said, weakly.

Mat shrugged helplessly, like that was an answer to the cold feeling in the pit of Rand’s stomach.

Not having any idea what to say, Rand said nothing. He wasn’t good at talking, not about this, and he kind of wished that they hadn’t talked at all. Kissing Mat had been wonderful, and he had thought—Rand didn’t know what he thought.

Moving to get off the bed, and maybe get his boots and go... somewhere, he was stopped by Mat’s hand around his wrist.

“Rand, what are you doing? Where are you going?” Mat’s voice was confused, almost panicked.

Staring down at Mat’s hand, Rand felt a spark of anger, and hurt. “Is that all this was? A chance to... to _touch_ me? Like you do with those visiting merchant guards sometimes, or that widow from Devon Ride?”

“What?” Mat was so taken aback that he released Rand, and Rand took the opportunity to stand up and make for the door. Mat’s scrambling sounded behind him.

“Light, Rand, no, that’s not what I was trying to say!”

“No? You didn’t mess with my head with all those little touches, and the dancing, and getting all close to me when we were sharing beds?” He threw over his shoulder, pulling on one boot.

“That’s _not_ what I was trying to do!” Mat sounded angry now, too. “I know how you don’t like it, but you—with me—you said it was different!”

“And you used that as an excuse, because without Egwene around there was nothing stopping you!” Rand accused, one boot in his hand and the other unlaced.

“I thought you were going to marry her!” Mat nearly shouted, something desperate in his voice.

“Well I didn’t want to!” Rand bent to put the other boot on. “I never wanted to marry anybody!”

“I know!” Mat threw his hands up in the air. “The face, remember?”

Rand stopped himself from making a different face, and stood up without putting on the other boot. “So what the hell are you playing at? Is this... is it some kind of—did you only just want—”

The look on Mat’s face was one Rand couldn’t identify, a pursed, contained look about his mouth.

Rand glared at him suspiciously.

“Rand al’Thor, are you asking me if I’m only trying to get into your breeches?” Mat said, an odd tremble to his voice.

Rand realized Mat was trying not to laugh, the _bastard_ , and also that—yes—that was exactly what he was asking, and it now seemed as ridiculous in his head as it did out loud.

“I—Um,” Rand said, some of the anger dying away to leave him wavering between confused and hurt.

Mat composed himself—a good thing. Rand would have thumped him and then run away if he’d laughed—and took a few cautious steps toward him. Rand tried not to let himself lean in.

“Rand,” Mat reached out, and Rand flinched away. A flicker of hurt crossed Mat’s face, but he just let his hand drop to his side. “I absolutely am trying to get into your breeches,” Rand choked. “But not because I’m trying to— _collect_ you, or whatever. Light, I haven’t been with _that_ many people,” Mat said, exasperated.

Rand raised his eyebrows, in spite of himself. “Seriously, Mat? This is me you’re talking to.”

“Okay, fine, so I’ve—Yeah, I’ve let my horse out to pasture a bit,” Rand snorted, and Mat glared at him, hands on his hips. “But I—it’s not like I’m trying to say I didn’t care about any of those people, I’m not heartless, but it was all just a bit of fun.”

Rand made a face.

“Oh, don’t make the face at me,” Mat said, that almost smile back on his lips.

Rand grimaced. He had made _‘the face’._ Rand just didn’t see what the fuss was about.

“Light, Rand, you’re making this impossible,” Mat muttered. “I’m trying to say that—you said I was different, right?”

Rand nodded warily.

“Well, you’re different, too. For—for me.” Mat was blushing, now. “This all—blood and ashes, I was testing the waters because I didn’t want to put you off. You’ve never looked at anyone like you... wanted them, that way, but I thought, the way you are with me, it was different, but maybe it was because we’ve been friends forever, and I—” Mat’s face drained of some of its color. “Light, Rand, we’ve almost died a dozen times since leaving Emond’s Field. I _—want_ you, okay? Blood and bloody ashes, I want you like I’ve never wanted anybody.”

Mat’s fists clenched at his sides, like he was stopping himself from reaching out. Rand gripped the boot he was holding in both hands; he could sympathize.

“And—and maybe I never would have tried, if we hadn’t left Emond’s Field, if Egwene were still around. I’m not a home wrecker, I’d never do that to you, or to her, or anybody. But it was us, together, and you—you held me when I couldn’t see, and when we were out alone, sleeping under hedges, it felt... different, okay? So I pushed a little. I admit it, and you didn’t push back, so I kept pushing.”

That... made a lot more sense than what Rand had been thinking. Light, of course Mat wouldn’t do that to him. What _had_ he been thinking?

Maybe Mat’s paranoia was catching.

Mat looked like he was about to say more, then made an exasperated noise.

“Light, Rand, would you put that boot down? You look ridiculous.”

Rand realized he was still gripping his left boot in both his hands, and hastened to set it down, no longer feeling like running off.

Mat made to come closer, then stopped himself, and Rand’s gut twisted. That hesitation was his fault.

“What I’m trying to say,” Mat said, and closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Is that I care about you way too bloody much to just—take you for a ride and put you back in the barn, okay? Light, if you had given me the _tiniest_ signal that you didn’t want me doing anything, I’d have left off. And your signals aren’t tiny, Rand. I’d have noticed.”

Rand felt himself make The Face.

“Yes,” Mat said, and this time he did smile. “Like that.”

“So if I’d said no, or...” Rand made The Face, again. Damn it.

Mat gave him a weird look. “Light, Rand. I’d have stopped! I’m not a... a rapist, or something. I’d never do anything like that to you.”

Of course not. Rand knew that. Light, what was wrong with his brain, tonight?

“So you,” Rand licked his lips. “You... want me. Like, like with the other people you’ve... _ridden_.”

Mat’s face did a weird, rippling thing. “Probably the best pun he’s ever made, and he doesn’t even know it,” Mat murmured, then shook his head. “Yes.”

“But you said—if we’d been in Emond’s Field, you’d never have... pushed, like you did.”

Mat shrugged. “No, probably not.”

“But you—you _want_ me.” Rand had to say it. It felt obvious, but he could be a bit stupid about these things.

Mat shrugged again, and sighed, like he was tired. “You can’t always get what you want.”

Rand swallowed hard. Mat would have... no, he wouldn’t have, is what. He would have let Rand marry Egwene and never even said anything. They never would have danced, or held hands, or slept together like they had, or... or kissed.

A vague sensation of loss swept through him. The idea of it made Rand feel like he could weep, and he was the freak who couldn’t relate most of the time when people did things with each other if they weren’t trying to have babies. He could only imagine how Mat felt.

“I’m not sure I want you like that,” Rand prevaricated, though current signs indicated that _yeah okay I might want you, too._

“That’s okay,” Mat said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I... I might not _ever_ want someone like that,” Rand continued.

“I know,” said Mat, a look of fondness on his face that broke Rand’s heart, or maybe made it grow twice as large in his chest.

“But I think I might... want to try? With—with you?” Rand’s nervousness made him feel like an idiot, but he _had_ been yelling at Mat only a couple minutes ago.

From where he was standing only a couple feet away, Rand could see how Mat’s breath hitched, and his pupils widened. His hands spasmed at his sides. “Okay,” Mat said, then, with complete seriousness. “But not with only one boot on.”

Rand all but tackled him, and Mat was laughing as he kissed Rand’s mouth.

* * *

For a change, it wasn’t strange or terrible dreams that woke Rand in what he thought might not be long before dawn. The room was dark but for a bit of moonlight coming through the windows, the lamps long extinguished.

The first thing Rand noticed was that he was alone on the bed. Mat wasn’t there. Then came an odd _snick, snick,_ noise. Lifting his head, he saw a figure silhouetted against the wall by the door.

“Mat?” Rand mumbled, sleepily.

The noise stopped, and Rand waited. When more than a few seconds passed, Rand grew tense. What if it wasn’t—

“Who’s there?” Rand said, sitting up, eyes darting to the balcony. If Mat was gone—

“It’s just me, Rand,” and Rand nearly slumped with relief. It was Mat.

“Light, you startled me. Everything alright? Why are you standing there in the dark?” Rand squinted, and thought he caught the glint of moonlight on steel. He shivered a little, uneasy at the thought of the ruby-hilted dagger.

“I’m fine,” Mat said, and Rand thought he sounded odd. “Just thinking.”

“It’s nearly dawn,” Rand said with a yawn, lying back down. “Come do your thinking over here,” he added boldly.

Mat was silent again for long enough that Rand became worried anew. Was he sleepwalking, or something?

Finally, Mat’s steps sounded in the room, and the bed dipped briefly as Mat settled down on it. Rand obligingly scooted over, his back to Mat.

When Mat’s body finally stretched out behind him, Rand shivered a little at the cold press of an arm across his torso through the thin fabric of the night shirt Master Gill had provided him. Mat’s body was mostly bare but for a breech clout, and Rand wondered sleepily why Mat hadn’t put on a shirt, or a robe at least.

Settling back into sleep with Mat’s arm around him, Rand didn’t see Mat slip the dagger beneath the pillow.

In the morning, only a couple hours later, when Rand tried to get Mat to come meet Loial and eat breakfast in the kitchen, Mat barely stirred, huddling back beneath the blankets as soon as Rand got up. Rand checked him for fever, but there was none, and Mat batted away his hand with a sound of irritation. Leaving reluctantly—he had promised to play a game of stones with the Ogier—Rand said he’d send a tray up for Mat, and to check on him later.

Rand lost soundly to Loial, which he’d have done in any case, but he hadn’t exactly been paying the best attention. To the game or to his opponent’s conversation.

“You still seem troubled, Rand al’Thor,” said Loial. “I had thought with all the shouting last night you had resolved your troubles with your friend, but perhaps I was mistaken. You humans are odd creatures that way. Elder Haman often said that humans will shout at one another when arguing, and that it may help them to solve the argument. Or perhaps he had said to end it, I am not sure.”

Finally paying attention to Loial, Rand colored a little at the mention of the shouting. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize we had been so loud. My apologies for disturbing your rest.”

“Oh no,” said Loial with a wave of a massive hand. “We Ogier do not need quite so much sleep as you humans. I was still here, reading. Forgive me, I did not mean to pry. You were not very loud, I do not think. We Ogier have excellent hearing.”

“Ah,” said Rand, eyeing the Ogier’s tufted ears. “It’s, er, it’s fine, Loial, we shouldn’t have been shouting at each other at all, I was just being foolish. We, um,” Rand tried to fight the blush but knew he was losing, “We resolved the argument.”

Nodding, Loial began to reset the game pieces, mercifully oblivious to Rand’s state. “Then I am glad for you. Where is your friend, then? From what I have heard you speak of him, I would quite like to meet him.”

Rand’s brow furrowed, thinking about Mat’s odd behavior in the night. “He’s... not feeling well, I don’t think. Actually,” Rand got up, suddenly distracted. It had been a couple hours since he’d left Mat in bed. “I’ll go see if he’s up for a visit.”

Not ten minutes later, Rand returned to the library, feeling annoyed and a bit impressed by the way Mat had blistered his ears up in their room. He’d eaten some of what had been sent up, at least, but was still huddled on the bed, fiddling with that damned dagger.

Looking up from a book that seemed tiny in hands the size of dinner plates, Loial blinked big eyes at Rand.

“He is still not well, then?” Asked the Ogier.

Rand shook his head, cheeks coloring a little at some of what Mat promised he would do if Rand left him alone. He wasn’t sure some of it wouldn’t involve injury.

“We’ve ah,” Rand cleared his throat. “Had a hard road, and it’s probably just catching up with him, is all.”

Loial made a deep hum of understanding. “Well, perhaps when he is feeling better, then. You mentioned his skill at both stones and storytelling. I mean no offense to you, or Master Gill, but being cooped up here does indeed limit one’s conversation partners, and I do not always like to be the one talking.”

Rand thought about how Loial could probably carry on a conversation with the gray tabby that occasionally haunted the library, and wasn’t sure he believed that, but he laughed nonetheless.

“I understand,” Rand said. He was about to suggest another game of stones, when a different thought struck him. Loial seemed to know something about everything. Maybe...

“Loial,” Rand began. “What do you know about Shadar Logoth?”

To Rand’s disappointment, Loial didn’t appear to know more about Shadar Logoth than what Moiraine had said, if not in much finer detail than the Aes Sedai. The Ogier shuddered when Rand rehashed their encounter with both Mordeth and Ma’shadar, but Rand had promised not to reveal to anyone that Mat had taken the dagger, so he didn’t bring it up, and left the library without anything of substance to perhaps explain Mat’s mood swings.

Maybe it really was just the stress. Light knew Rand was a lot edgier than he’d ever been in his life. It wasn’t in his nature to snap at people, but he’d definitely felt the urge more often of late, and he’d uncharacteristically lost his head with Mat the night before.

To say nothing of his burgeoning attraction to Mat; not that he could complain about it, but it was more than he’d ever felt for another person, before.

Worry niggling at him, and—after last night, maybe feeling a bit lonely—Rand made his way down to the common room to see Master Gill going about his business, a couple patrons with red-wrapped swords seated at tables eating their midday meal.

Receiving a distracted wave from Master Gill, Rand made his way to the front door of the inn, intending to see if the white cat that’d been stalking Lamgwin yesterday was still around. It had looked almost absurdly fluffy, and he thought maybe petting it would make him feel better.

Stepping outside, he spotted Lamgwin lounging in one of the empty chairs strategically placed near the door for what Rand imagined was exactly that purpose, a book open in one hand. There were no cats in sight, however, and Rand sighed, walking over and plopping himself down on a bench flanking a low, empty stone planter, the vestiges of dead plants likely cleared away to make room for spring flowers that hadn’t come yet.

The last weeks had been such a whirlwind of mortal peril and uncertainty, just being able to sit still felt like a luxury.

“‘Lo,” said Lamgwin after a minute of silence, his eyes never seeming to leave the pages of the book.

“Good Morning,” responded Rand, realizing he’d been a bit rude, not even acknowledging the man. “Sorry, I’m just—Sorry, I usually have better manners than this.” Lamgwin hummed and waved a hand at him.

At a loss, it took Rand a few moments to find his wits. “How’s your book?” He asked, for lack of a better topic of conversation.

Lamgwin’s eyes turned to Rand, and the big man quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting enough,” he drawled. “Love story. Read it before.”

“Really?” Rand said, surprise coloring his voice before he realized how that sounded. “I mean, that’s...”

Lamgwin’s eyes smiled where his mouth didn’t. “Not what you were expecting.”

Rand opened his mouth, then shut it. “Ah, no. Not really.”

Lamgwin turned back to the book. “Always handy to be more than meets the eye,” Lamgwin said, with a lazy flick of his own toward Rand’s wrapped sword. “Especially these days.”

Rand stared, hand brushing the concealed heron on the hilt of the blade. He couldn’t possibly...

“Right,” said Rand, and sat in what was, for him at least, an awkward silence for a few minutes.

To his immense relief, and not a little delight, the white cat he’d sought earlier sauntered around the corner of the building, walking along the empty planter with silent grace. Rand reached a hand out, and the cat stopped, regarding it dubiously before giving it a delicate sniff. After apparently passing muster, the white cat ran its cheek against his outstretched fingers, and presented its head for scratching.

Smiling a little, Rand obliged the feline. He’d always liked cats. They seemed a bit more discerning than dogs, who tended to either love or hate everyone; in his experience, if a cat didn’t like someone, they usually weren’t worth liking, or trusting.

“Careful with that one,” said Lamgwin from where Rand’s back was turned. “She’ll leave you with a new fur coat if you let her.”

As if hearing Lamgwin’s words, the cat slitted her eyes at the man, and then stepped off the planter and into Rand’s lap, where she sat, tail curled about her feet, and started up a rumbling purr, daring Rand to object.

“Not sure there’s much letting about it,” Rand said with a quiet laugh, gently scratching the cat beneath the chin. “But I don’t mind. Master Gill has been kind enough to lend Mat and I some spare clothing.”

Lamgwin seemed to regard Rand’s willingness to be befurred with approval.

“Dos she have a name?” asked Rand.

“Niall,” Lamgwin said, then paused as if waiting for something. When Rand said nothing, Lamgwin grunted. “But we mostly call her Tufty.”

Tufty chose that moment to roll over and grab Rand’s hand, pulling it down with both paws to gnaw on his fingers a brief moment, then lick them.

“Ow,” Rand said, pulling his fingers free, though it didn’t really hurt. “You’re a little tyrant, aren’t you?”

Tufty chirped in response, then stood and made a quick circle in Rand’s lap before curling up, nose in her tail, presumably to sleep.

“How’s your friend?” Lamgwin asked, with seeming nonchalance.

Rand rubbed Tufty’s back, and frowned. “Grouchy.”

Lamgwin hummed. “Late nights will do that, no matter how much fun they are.”

When the comment sank in, Rand felt his face heat, and didn’t look up.

“Um, I didn’t—I mean, he— _we_ didn’t—”

Lamgwin surprised Rand by actually chuckling as he turned a page in his book. “None of my business if you had, lad,” said the man. “But a pair of young men trying to lay low, to my mind, could stand to be cautious about making themselves too interesting, even to the good Queen’s Men that we get ‘round here.”

If Rand ever stopped blushing, it would be a miracle.

“Um... I’ll, er, keep that in mind,” said Rand, hoping the ground might swallow him. “Thanks.”

Lamgwin closed his book and stood up. “Not that you need to be boring behind closed doors, mind. Just keep it quiet.”

With a wink that left Rand mortified, Lamgwin slouched into the inn, Rand still seated on the bench where he let his red face fall into the cat’s soft fur.

Light, wasn’t Mat going to be pleased to hear about that, Rand thought. He was already suspicious of everyone they met. Thinking that people were listening in on anything they might get up to—blood and ashes, Rand blushed again just thinking about it—would be a disaster.

A glance at the sky told Rand that it was getting on toward noon, and maybe Mat would actually be willing to come eat in the kitchen, if not the common room. Maybe even the library, if he was going to be stubborn about it. Rand really wanted to introduce him to Loial; he’d probably love some of the Ogier’s stories. They might take his mind off everything else.

Rand gently removed Tufty from his lap, and the cat gave a sleepy meow of protest, fixing Rand with a look of reproach when he set her down in Lamgwin’s chair. She leapt off and gave a stretch, tail held at a jaunty angle as she padded away, Rand apparently already beneath her notice once more.

Setting his jaw stubbornly, Rand strode back into The Queen’s Blessing, and went upstairs to get Mat out of their room, one way or another.


	4. 4

Halting at the closed door to their room, Rand felt a curl of trepidation as he recalled standing in a similar position last night. Shaking himself out of it, and feeling a little ashamed at his fear, Rand didn’t bother with knocking this time.

“Mat, are you awake?” He called, stepping through with a confident stride. He’d made enough noise approaching the door that his friend should have at least stirred.

The nest of blankets on the bed stirred, but didn’t speak. Rand rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Mat,” Rand said as he approached the bed with exasperation. “I’m not sending another tray up here. Come eat in the kitchens, at least.”

The two beds in the room both stood with their heads to the far wall—if far it could be called, only a few strides away—a window between them, and feet facing the door. A little space on either side left room for small standing tables to serve for lanterns, books, or other things one might want on hand while lying abed.

Mat had taken up residence in the bed to the right of the door and window, closest to their small water closet, a strange luxury. Rounding the side toward which Mat was facing—Rand assumed he was, at least, since he looked like nothing so much as a cocooned caterpillar—Rand sat down beside the bundle of blankets, nudging Mat aside a little to make room. The pile shifted, and a baleful eye peered out at him from a gap at the top.

Rand nearly laughed at how ridiculous Mat looked, until he saw how the rims of the eye were red, the whites slightly bloodshot.

“Hey,” said Rand with concern, scooting closer to Mat’s glaring face. “How are you feeling?”

Rand reached into the blankets to feel Mat’s forehead, pushing aside an absurd thought that Mat might bite him, and was relieved to feel skin slightly cool instead of fevered.

“Better if you’d let me alone,” Mat grumbled.

Rand sighed. “You’ve already been alone up here long enough, and I’m not going to stay cooped up in the room all day with you, so you’ve really got no choice but to come eat something in the kitchens.”

Mat sat up, blankets still wrapped about his head, but his face fully visible inside the blanket hood.

Light, he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days, and his glare held an edge of hostility that it hadn’t before, even just this morning.

“So you get to tell me what to do now, is that it? What if I don’t want to go eat with strangers in the kitchens? You know how it is in these cities, people coming and going all the time, never knowing who might be there one minute to the next. They could all be darkfriends for all you know!”

“Mat,” said Rand, taken aback. “Calm down. I’m not—you’ve just been lying in bed all day, and I think getting out of the room will do you some good. I doubt you’re actually sleeping in here, in any case.”

“What business is it of yours if I stay up here all week!” Mat scoffed, hands fisted together around something inside of the blankets shrouding him.

 _That bloody dagger,_ thought Rand with trepidation. Why wouldn’t he leave that thing alone?

“It’s my business because you’re my best friend and I’m _worried_ about you,” Rand shot back.

“Oh, sure, like you’re not up here hoping I’ll suck your virgin cock!” Mat snarled.

Rand physically reeled back at the comment. Mat hadn’t… even earlier, there had been a playful edge to the grumpiness and somewhat lewd comments. What he'd just said was _miles_ beyond that.

Rand’s eyes narrowed on his friend.

“What did you just say to me?” Rand asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.

Mat’s own comment, or perhaps just Rand’s reaction to it, seemed to have shocked him, as well, because the snarl melted off of his face, replaced with one of horror reminiscent to what had painted it the night before, when Mat had threatened him with the dagger he likely held now.

“Rand, Light, I—I didn’t mean—” Mat started to say, blankets slipping off the top of his head.

With a calm he didn’t feel, Rand picked up the goblet of water that sat on the very convenient night table, and threw it into Mat’s face.

The shock on Mat’s face as much as the sputtering that followed gave Rand a jolt of satisfaction as he stood and loomed over Mat with at arm planted on either side of him on the headboard.

“For the sake of our friendship, I’m going to forget what just came out of your mouth. I’m going to pretend that I came in here, and you agreed to come eat with me and Loial in the library without insulting me. Now,” Rand said, looking Mat up and down, from his wide brown eyes to the water dripping down his bare chest. “I’m going to go to the kitchens, and if you’re not waiting outside that door for me in ten minutes ready to eat with Loial and I,” Rand moved in closer, lowering his voice to a smooth purr as he stroked the wet hair out of Mat’s wide eyes. “I’m going to come back here and drag you to the library even if you’re _naked_.”

With that, Rand gripped Mat’s hair, leaned in, kissed his wet forehead, and left the room, too angry to say another word. Light help Mat if he wasn’t where Rand told him to be when he came back.

Keeping his pace unhurried, Rand sought the void while he walked down to the kitchens.

Something was wrong with Mat. That was the only reason Rand could think that he would say such an awful thing to him. He certainly _looked_ sick, even if he didn’t show signs of a fever. Not every disease caused fevers, he remembered Nynaeve saying once. Light, what he wouldn’t give to have Nynaeve here now, even if she did give the both of them the rough side of her tongue for what they’d been getting up to.

As he approached the warmer air and wafting scents of the kitchens, Rand paused and composed himself. He didn’t want his being upset to make him rude to the staff. Master Gill was already being more than generous without Rand insulting his cook and kitchen helpers.

When he entered, they were already preparing a tray for Loial, and were pleased with the help he offered in bringing it up, graciously adding two additional human sized helpings of the fare on offer.

Heading to the library first, still not quite ready to face Mat again so soon despite his threat, Rand was greeted by a delighted Loial who was happy to set out the food and wait for Rand to return with Mat.

Stopping at the stairs that lead up to their room, Rand was absolutely ready to carry out his threat, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Luckily for Mat, he’d taken Rand seriously, and was just stepping out of the door when Rand returned. He was wearing fresh clothes, and looked to have taken the wet hair as an excuse to put a comb through it. Damp locks of hair curled around Mat’s ears as he shut the door with a subdued look on his face.

He still looked sick, though it appeared even the few minutes out of bed he’d had were making an improvement.

Rand didn’t let anything show in his expression as he walked up to Mat and looked him up and down, though he couldn’t help a slight clenching of his jaw.

Mat cleared his throat. “Rand, I’m—”

Rand held up a finger for silence, and stared into Mat’s eyes. Brown, a little bloodshot, wide with anxiety, but no trace of the malice Rand had seen earlier. For some reason, it made Rand relax a little bit. It was a small, and probably meant nothing to a real healer, but for Rand it was enough to know that something actually _had_ been different, before.

Before Mat could try to speak again, Rand closed the distance and embraced Mat fiercely. Mat wordlessly returned it, just as fierce; perhaps moreso.

Without letting go, Rand buried his nose in Mat’s hair, and reveled in the feeling of holding and being held like he didn’t with anyone else in the world.

“I know you’re not well, and I’m going to do everything I can think of to help you get better,” Rand murmured into Mat’s ear before releasing him and looking Mat in the eyes. “But If you _ever_ say something like that to me again, I’ll break your teeth.”

Mat swallowed and looked down, fiddling with the buttons on his coat. “I’d deserve it. Light, Rand, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m pretending it didn’t happen, now, remember?” Rand said, a little tightly, turning around to head for the library. Mat caught his arm before he could start down the stairs.

“Hey,” Mat rasped. “Don’t—really, Rand. I’m not trying to make excuses, it was an awful thing I said to you, but I—my head just feels full of rocks, okay? It’s a bit better now, but I…”

The anger and hurt from earlier surged up, and Rand took a moment to feed the emotions to the flame.

Mat broke off his rambling and released Rand’s arm when he saw the blank, unmoving expression on his face. “Right. Never happened, but broken teeth if it happens again. Got it.”

It was easy not to smile in the void, so Rand didn’t, and lead Mat to the library.

If Rand had put perhaps a bit more thought into the way Mat had been acting lately, he might have anticipated his friend’s reaction upon seeing Loial, in spite of his thorough description of the Ogier and his gentle, friendly nature.

Rand had no sooner shown Mat into the library, Loial rising to greet the both of them, than he was shoved roughly behind Mat, and the _shing_ of metal being drawn from a sheath broke the stuffy silence of the room.

“Trolloc!” Mat cried, and would have leapt at Loial had Rand not restrained him with an arm across his chest. Using a maneuver that Lan had showed them in the few nights they’d had to train, Rand leaned backward, straightened the arm that held the dagger, and twisted Mat’s wrist. Mat lost his grip on it, and it clattered to the floor.

A good thing, too, because the strength that had allowed Mat to lift Rand bodily from the floor yesterday evening was back in full force, and it took all of Rand’s own not inconsiderable strength to prevent Mat from going after his dropped weapon.

“Blood and ashes, Mat, _stop!_ ”

Mat made a feral sound and flailed in Rand’s grip.

“That’s Loial!” Gritted Rand as he strained to hold Mat. “He’s an _Ogier_ , damn it, not a bloody trolloc!”

Mat struggled a moment longer while Loial looked on with his large eyes grown even wider, and then at last Mat sagged in Rand’s grip, staggering him with the sudden lack of resistance.

His friend’s strength seemed to have given way to a somewhat shaky passivity, and Rand held on for a few more moments before half carrying him to a chair. A glazed look was clearing from Mat’s eyes as Rand watched, and he felt his gut churn with fear, his earlier anger nearly forgotten.

“Mat, are you okay?” Rand asked, watching the near invisible flutter of Mat’s pulse in his neck.

A shaky nod, and Mat closed his eyes. “I—yeah, sorry. I just,” Mat flicked his gaze over where Loial stood, obviously crouching to make himself less imposing, but mostly succeeding in adding a somewhat sinister hunched appearance to his already exotic features. Mat squeezed his eyes shut like his head pained him. “ _Light_ , he’s big.”

“Rand, this is your friend Matrim Cauthon?” Loial asked diplomatically.

Rand nodded, slowly straightening from his own crouch in front of Mat.

“Yes,” replied Rand. “I suppose you’re used to that reaction by now, but still, my apologies. I thought I’d explained Ogier well enough to him, but it’s been a...” Rand briefly closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, “difficult morning.”

“I see. Perhaps a bit of brandy to begin the meal would not go amiss, then,” Loial said, and produced a small seeming—in reality the largest Rand had ever seen—flask from one enormous pocket.

“ _Light_ , yes,” Rand thought he heard Mat mutter, and glanced over to see his friend slumped in the chair, a hand resting on his chest. Rand did feel just a little sympathetic, but Light, Mat was a terror with that dagger on him.

Swiftly, Loial had poured three—rather generous—portions of brandy into cups, and they’d all taken sips when Mat stood. He still looked a little unsteady on his feet, but the color was returning to his face.

Rand watched him scoop up the dagger from the floor, though with less haste than he had yesterday. Mat sheathed it, put it inside his coat, and then—to Rand’s surprise—removed the coat and, with what looked to Rand like pain and reluctance both, hung the coat on the hook by the door.

For no reason Rand could discern, he felt a bit proud of Mat for making the gesture, but the memory of what Mat had said was still fresh in his mind. It was no less than he ought to be doing. Light, bringing that bloody dagger here at all!

Absently resting a hand on the sword he nearly always wore, now, Rand thought that perhaps he was being a bit unfair, but he also hadn’t drawn the sword on Loial when they’d first met, and Rand _hadn’t_ known what to expect.

He was shaken from his thoughts by Mat’s voice, a bit stronger than it had been, but lacking its usual charm. It had lacked that charm with strangers for some time, now.

“Hello, Master Ogier, I’m Mat Cauthon, from Emond’s Field in the Two Rivers, though I suppose you know that much already. Please, forgive me for my earlier... behavior. You really don’t look much like a trolloc at all, but I’ve been a bit jumpy lately.”

“It is alright, Master Cauthon,” rumbled Loial, kindly. The Ogier really didn’t look like he minded, though the brandy may have had something to do with that. “Your reaction was really quite tame compared to how some of the folk in Caemlyn responded to my arrival, and with Rand here to help, there is no harm done. Please, do call me Loial, I am nobody’s master.”

Mat managed a weak smile. “Then please call me Mat. I only master horses back home.”

Rand watched, sipping at the brandy—pear, he was pretty sure—while Loial followed with some polite but genuinely interested inquiries about raising horses in the Two Rivers. Mat wasn’t exactly animated, but he was equally polite, and the atmosphere wasn’t painful, at least.

Noticing Mat’s now empty glass, and with a wink to Rand that was far from subtle, Loial supplied Mat with another dose of brandy.

His own glass still half full, Rand eyed it a moment before throwing caution to the wind, and knocking back a heftier swallow that made his throat and eyes burn.

“I must say, that was quite a fine dagger you had, Mat. Is it, too, an heirloom like Rand’s sword?” Loial asked, and Rand could have cursed.

A light of suspicion kindled in Mat’s gaze. “You could say that,” he said, guarded.

“He kind of stumbled upon it,” said Rand quickly. “But we think it’s probably pretty old.”

“Fine craftsmanship,” Loial said jovially. “Fine indeed, though we Ogier have little use for such weapons, or such finery!” Loial boomed what for him was probably a low chuckle. “In our stories, the Ogier always wield axes. Here, let us eat and I will tell you of them.”

Grateful beyond words for Loial’s either genuine disinterest in the dagger, or his recognition of the sore subject, Rand eagerly joined him at the meal.

This time, under Rand’s eyes, Mat ate everything in front of him. It made Rand suspicious of where the missing bits of food from the breakfast tray had actually gone.

The meal carried on well past noon, Mat loosening up with the brandy they drank, but never truly relaxing. Rand mostly listened to Loial and Mat exchanging stories, but he could tell his friend’s heart wasn’t in it, and thought his own lingering ill mood as much as the disconcerting presence of the Ogier likely had something to do with it.

When Master Gill arrived at what was evidently a pre-appointed time for a game of stones before guests came to the Queen’s Blessing for dinner, Rand made their excuses and—both a bit unsteady on their feet from the Ogier’s brandy—made their way upstairs to their room once more.

When they arrived back at the room, Rand studied Mat out of the corner of his eye as he held his coat in his hands before, once more, hanging it on a peg by the door with the dagger still inside. When he’d let the fabric fall from his hand and smoothed it straight, he stood there, motionless but for a slight sway.

“Come on,” Rand sad quietly, feeling warm from the alcohol as he took Mat’s unresisting hand, leading him through the narrow door—more of a tall window, really—to their small balcony. It would have seemed a luxury that they should not have had, not being paying customers, but Master Gill said that this room was rarely used by any but long-term guests because it was small, especially with the additional bed, the balcony made it drafty, and it was higher up than most wanted.

Rand packed his borrowed pipe with some tabac that Mat had kept squirreled away since before Four Kings, and lit it with a few strikes from his flint.

Wordlessly, Rand passed it to Mat, fingers tingling from where they brushed against Mat’s as he accepted it.

For a few minutes, they sat pressed together in silence, wisps of smoke curling in the crisp but still air of Caemlyn. This high up, some of the city smells weren’t quite as strong.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Rand said quietly, looking at Mat for the first time since they’d come out here.

Blowing a perfectly round smoke ring, Mat sighed out what remained in his lungs through his nose, and hesitated. “I—maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I... I lay down and I try to go to sleep, and I think I manage it, usually, but then later I’ll wake up, I guess, and I’ll be in bed but it doesn’t feel like I’ve slept at all, and then I’ll remember bits of things I thought were dreams, but I suppose I was actually awake,” Mat shifted. “It was like that when you left this morning, after breakfast I think. I wasn’t sure it had happened until you—you came back later,” Mat finished with a glance at Rand as he passed the pipe back

Closing his eyes, Rand sucked on the pipe, and held the smoke in his lungs, held the hurt feelings and the anger in along with it, and—finally—breathed everything out.

He felt lighter, but that could have been lack of air.

“How long has that been going on?” Asked Rand. “The... sleep walking, I guess you’d call it.”

Mat shrugged. “Only a couple times before we got to Caemlyn, I think. It—it’s not so bad when,” Mat cleared his throat. “When you’re with me. Dunno why.”

“So you did sleep a little, last night? I saw you awake, just before dawn,” said Rand, tapping out the spent pipe. He didn’t want to bring up the dagger, but it seemed to hang in the air with the smoke, anyway.

“A little, yeah, before that, I think. I don’t know about after. It all kind of... blurs together,” Mat said quietly.

Setting the pipe aside, Rand sat back, and—after a silent moment of deliberation—reached out for Mat’s hand. Mat allowed it to be taken, and squeezed back when Rand gripped it.

“I guess I’ll just have to stick around, then, won’t I?” Murmured Rand, looking down at their hands, sitting between them on the space where their thighs met. Minutes passed.

“I’m sorry,” Mat whispered miserably, and Rand looked up.

Eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, Mat looked like he was in physical pain. Remembering that he had let the worst of his ill feelings go, Rand released the hand he was holding to wrap an arm around Mat, pulling his head down to rest on Rand’s shoulder.

“I know,” Rand said aloud, and gently stroked Mat’s hair. It wasn’t forgiveness, exactly, but until he was sure what was making Mat act like this, he wouldn’t forgive what he didn’t understand. He _was_ still from the Two Rivers, after all.

Minutes later, Rand could tell Mat had fallen asleep. Between the brandy, the food, and his evident exhaustion, Rand wasn’t surprised. Rand picked Mat up with only a little effort, and carried him inside. It was a mark of his friend’s state that he didn’t even stir. Laying him down on the other bed in the room, the one Rand had claimed but had yet to use, Rand pulled off Mat’s boots and belt, then his own.

Mat had said, after all, that whatever was wrong with him was... better, when Rand was around.

Slipping into the bed next to Mat—it was barely wide enough to accommodate them both—Rand laid a hand on his chest and titled his head forward on the pillow until his forehead touched Mat’s shoulder. After a few minutes of feeling the reassuring rise and fall of deep breaths, Rand, too, fell asleep.

* * *

This time, when Rand awoke, he knew he was not alone. A gasp caught in his throat at the feeling of lips on the back of his neck, and a warm hand splayed on his chest.

“Mmm, sorry,” Mat said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Rand’s back. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Instead of saying anything, Rand snuggled back further into Mat, pressing their bodies together and trapping Mat’s hand to his chest with his own. The light of mid afternoon filtered into their room through the shutters, and Rand felt like he could stay here like this all day.

Mat shifted behind him, warm breath tickling the nape of Rand’s neck as he, too, sighed contentedly. Another kiss, and another, landed lightly on Rand’s skin, tiny shocks that left behind pleasant tingles.

As far as showing contrition went, Mat’s chaste, gentle attentions were doing pretty well. Or, they would have been chaste if Rand’s skin hadn’t felt so sensitive that every brush of Mat’s lips was sending blood straight to his groin.

Light, it felt good. With Mat’s arm around him, the feeling of his lean, hard body bracketing Rand’s own, he could lose himself in a blissful haze.

Rand’s breath hitched when Mat pressed one open mouthed kiss to the skin of his shoulder, lingering over the spot, his warm breath like a fan on burning embers, and Rand caught fire.

“Hmm?” Mat’s hum was questioning. _Is this alright?_ it said, and Rand felt unbearably grateful that this was the one person in the world who knew him well enough to know that it might not be. Rand squeezed the hand he had wrapped around Mat’s against his chest and made a noise of assent.

In near silence but for their breathing and the rasp of clothing, Mat slowly stoked Rand’s desire with languid, lingering kisses to the skin of his neck and shoulder. When Mat’s mouth moved to kiss Rand behind the ear, tongue flickering out to caress the lobe, Rand arched a little into the contact, and he heard Mat’s own breath catch.

“Light, you are _gorgeous_ , Rand al’Thor,” Mat said in a voice rough from sleep and desire, like they’d been sitting on his tongue and had rolled off at the first provocation.

Rand’s noise of protest was supplanted by one of surprised pleasure when Mat dragged his teeth down the skin of Rand’s neck, pausing to nip at the pulse of Rand’s jugular before laving the spot with his tongue.

“Light,” Rand breathed, his head light with the effects of what Mat was doing to him.

Without much thinking about it, Rand brought his hand up and placed it on the back of Mat’s head, a silent _yes, more of that, please_ gaining him enthusiastic compliance. Mat slowly lavished attention on Rand’s neck and back with lips, teeth, and tongue.

Freed from Rand’s grip, Mat’s hand caressed his chest, slow, gentle motions that sent heat washing through him. Mat’s fingers passed over his nipples—taught beneath his shirt—but didn’t pinch or linger, leaving Rand hypersensitive and aching for each brush of a thumb.

Rarely in his life had Rand felt any kind of desire at all, so he had absolutely no frame of reference for the waves of longing and heady lust that were coursing through him. He was absolutely sure that he had never been so hard in his life, not even yesterday when Mat had shown him the wonders of kissing and cuddling.

This... this was all too languid and gentle to be called teasing. No, it was _torture_.

Rand’s hand now tangled in his hair, Mat drew aside the fabric of Rand’s shirt to suckle the skin at the cleft of his shoulder blade, and Rand made a rumbling hum of approval. Mat hummed against his skin, pleased with his work.

The hand on Rand’s chest ghosted lower to dance across his twitching abdominal muscles, and Rand gasped, cock jerking inside his breeches as if attuned to that hand’s proximity. Mat rumbled a laugh against the skin of his back, like the two parts of his body weren’t in cahoots to set Rand’s brain on fire and obliterate all coherent thought.

With every gentle motion back up toward Rand’s nipples, which at this point seemed to be a conduit for sensation going straight to his groin, Rand’s shirt rode a little higher up his belly, until his skin was exposed to the cooling air of the room, making Rand shiver.

Mouth pressed to underside of Rand’s jaw, Mat made another questioning sound as he laid his palm on Rand’s naked stomach.

“Burn you, _yes_ , it’s fine,” Rand gasped out, gripping Mat’s hair perhaps a little too tightly so he could keep the bastard still while he turned his head and sought out Mat’s mouth with his own.

Mat laughed into his mouth, his body making a sinuous movement across the back of Rand’s own as he leaned forward into the kiss, his right hand sweeping under Rand’s shirt. The feel of Mat’s skin on his own brought a soft grunt out of him, and Mat pulled back, kissing Rand’s jaw and peering into his eyes.

“You’re quiet,” Mat breathed, left hand sneaking under Rand’s head to caress his scalp through the disaster that must be his hair. Rand released Mat’s own at the thought, letting his right hand fall to rest on Mat’s hip.

“Okay,” Rand agreed, because what else was he supposed to say?

“It’s... hmmm,” Mat purred, nuzzling Rand’s jaw. “I don’t know. I like it.”

If Rand hadn’t already been flushed from scalp to toenails with lust, he’d have blushed. Light, why did Mat have to _say_ things like that, when Rand was a light blinded fool who didn’t know what to say back? Mat liked that he was quiet; what did that even _mean_?

Obviously already having moved on from the comment, Mat drew patterns across Rand’s skin beneath his shirt, distracting him from his wandering thoughts with featherlight touches across his nipples, hot breath burning a path from his jaw to the skin of his back.

Unsure what to do with his hands if he wasn’t just... holding on to something, but wanting to feel more of Mat’s skin—a new experience for him—Rand gripped the hem of Mat’s shirt with his right hand and drew it up, exposing some of his belly and eliciting a hum of approval from the other man.

Its task done, Rand let his hand go back to gripping Mat’s hip, which was actually kind of an awkward position, because Mat’s hip was further back than it had been when Rand had been woken by Mat’s kisses. That full body contact had been... nice.

Intending to remedy the situation, Rand both pulled Mat’s hip toward him, and arched backward, and realized why Mat had moved when the other man gasped as he brought their bodies together once more.

Through the wool of their breeches, Rand could feel Mat’s hard cock pressing against him, a sensation that sent both a thrill and jolt of nerves through him.

“ _Ahh_ , that’s,” Mat sucked in a breath as he bucked his hips once against Rand before pulling away again. “Not—not yet,” murmured Mat, stopping his ministrations to remove Rand’s hand from his hip, shifting the arm up to lay nearly across his face.

“But—” started Rand.

“Don’t worry about me,” Mat smiled against Rand’s neck, and when Rand peered over his shoulder to glare at him, breathed out a laugh and kissed him deeply on the mouth, stifling further protests.

Rand didn’t mind the tongue so much, now.

While Rand’s mouth was occupied, Mat ruched up both of their shirts just a bit more, the fabric bunching near the top to expose Rand’s nipples and allowing a press of Mat’s heated skin on his back.

The noise Rand made was somewhere between a quiet moan and a growl, and evidently, Mat liked that too—with an answering groan, Mat wrapped his arm tight around Rand for a moment and the kiss turned filthy rather than languid, leaving Rand dazed when he pulled away.

“Blood and ashes, you are going to _ruin_ me,” Mat growled, and nipped Rand’s lower lip with his teeth.

Rand just tried to catch his breath, feeling like a hot pan that sizzled at every little flick of water Mat sent at him.

Relaxing the embrace, Mat moved his right hand up to cup his Rand’s face like he’d done the night before, but instead of just a caress, pushed his thumb into Rand’s mouth.

Recalling what Mat had done to his thumb, Rand figured that one was pretty self explanatory.

Light, it was beginning to feel a bit slick inside his breeches.

Closing his lips around the digit, Rand laved it gently with his tongue before giving an experimental suck. He felt Mat shudder behind him, hips almost brushing against Rand’s, mouth open against his neck. It felt a little strange, sucking Mat’s finger, but not unpleasant.

Mat allowed him to play with the finger in his mouth for a while before exercising a bit of control. The fingers on the side of Rand’s face tightened a little, and Mat’s thumb pressed down onto his tongue, not quite forcing Rand’s mouth open, and pulling it out with a final swipe across his lower lip.

Mat replaced thumb with mouth, and the kiss was slow, but charged, like water building behind a dam. Rand was so distracted he barely noticed Mat’s other hand until the cool dampness of his own saliva was making a trail along his belly.

Whatever connection existed between Mat’s hand and his cock lit up like a peddler’s fireworks, and Rand opened his mouth in a gasp against Mat’s.

“Can I?” Mat asked, his fingers brushing lightly against the tops of the already loosened laces of Rand’s breeches.

 _Can he_ what? Was the stupid question the flashed through Rand’s brain for a moment before he understood, and maybe died a little.

Mat wanted to... light, Mat wanted to touch his—he—

“S’okay to say no,” Mat said, brushing Rand’s face with the hand that had been tangled up with the one of Rand’s that was pillowing his head.

No? Mat was a _moron_.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Rand growled, and Mat laughed aloud as he shifted their tangle of limbs, pressing kisses to Rand’s mouth and neck as he did.

Rand’s right hand found its way back into Mat’s hair, while Mat’s left arm snaked beneath his head to curl across Rand’s mostly exposed chest. The casual, possessive embrace felt wonderful, like Rand was wanted and _safe_. Rand gripped Mat’s arm, holding it against him, and felt Mat grin against the skin of his neck.

Languid fingers caressed Rand’s belly, Mat’s open mouthed kisses open mouthed kisses leaving a damp trail along his jaw. Only the tips of Mat’s fingers explored the space beneath Rand’s slowly lowering waistline, and then the first knuckles, but it was enough to have Rand begging if he were actually capable of speech.

Finally, Mat withdrew his fingertips and slid his hand full down to cup the bulge straining the front of Rand’s breeches through the fabric, a long, slow caress that stopped Rand’s breath and had his hips jerking forward into the touch, the breath leaving him like he’d been punched.

“Mmm,” Mat hummed against Rand’s jaw, evidently enjoying himself while he destroyed Rand’s brain with slow, firm movements of his hand.

 _Light_ , Rand hardly ever even touched _himself_ , and Mat was rubbing him through his breeches, and the sensation was delicious, somehow more than just physical. It felt right.

Allowing Rand’s hips to writhe a bit as Mat worked him through his breeches, Mat kept a firm hold across Rand’s chest, where Rand himself was holding tightly to Mat’s strong forearm. He might leave bruises.

Through some sleight of hand Rand probably couldn’t manage, Mat had loosened the laces enough that they could be pulled apart without much effort, which Mat then left untouched in favor of bringing his hand up to Rand’s mouth.

With the few remaining wits that Rand had, he opened his mouth for Mat’s fingers, kissing them, sucking them inside and caressing them with his tongue. Mat groaned into the back of his neck, and Rand felt another sinuous thrust against his back before their bodies broke apart.

“Blood and bloody ashes,” Mat was panting while Rand sucked on his fingers. “Rand, _Light_ , you have no idea what you do to me.”

One of the wits that still remained had the temerity to say internally that he was licking Mat’s fingers, but the other wits weren’t cooperating so the thought remained internal, thank the light.

Mat withdrew his fingers, and Rand made a sound of protest—he’d actually been enjoying that—but Mat just turned Rand’s head and gave him something else to suck on.

With very nearly no warning, Mat reached his hand inside Rand’s loosened breeches and gripped his cock, fingers slicked by Rand’s own mouth.

With the first stroke of Mat’s fist, Rand saw stars, and gripped Mat’s hair and arm for dear life. Light, it felt— _Mat_ felt—

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Mat purred into Rand’s ear, and the sound seemed to vibrate through his body and into Mat’s hand where it pulled languorously on Rand’s cock.

Rand was making little huffs of breath every time Mat squeezed him on the way up, pushing fluid out of his cock to join his spit slicking the way.

Light light _light_ , Rand was going to die, Mat’s hand was on his cock and _yes_ , it did feel good, and Rand didn’t think he’d ever have another coherent thought again.

Mat removed his hand for a few seconds while he pushed both laces and breeches out of the way, and Rand took that opportunity to loosen the hand he had fisted in Mat’s hair.

“Sorry,” he slurred, petting Mat’s head.

“You’re fine,” Mat soothed, kissing him languidly as he got his hand around Rand’s cock again. “Light, you’re so good, Rand, so good.”

The words seemed to have the same effect as Mat’s hand, but on his soul, and Rand felt a burst of pleasure and warmth in his chest.

Rand’s cock was now exposed to the open air, Mat’s hand pulling long, hard strokes along his length. Rand gasped as Mat fisted the head of his cock, rolling it around in his hand, and his hips jerked hard forward, the bolt of sensation coiling tight in his belly.

“Yes,” Mat panted. “That’s it, move your hips.”

Like Rand could stop himself, if he’d tried.

Rand’s hips jerked in time with the quicker rhythm Mat’s strokes had assumed, he and Mat no longer kissing so much as breathing into one another’s mouths. Rand’s eyes were open, watching Mat’s fist move around his cock, and still barely able to fathom the sight of it, thrusting in and out of Mat’s fist, the muscles of his forearm bunching with every stroke, and Rand felt a little disconnected from his body as the sensation of each stroke rolled through him and gathered low behind his navel.

Oh, Light.

“Look at me,” Mat said, and Rand moved glazed eyes to Mat’s own hungry, dilated gaze. “I’ve got you,” Mat kissed him, and pulled back, never ceasing his relentless assault on Rand’s sanity with his damn hand on Rand’s cock. “I’ve got you, you’re okay, come on,”.

Rand felt out of rhythm with the sensations he was feeling, like every movement was out of sync with the now constant and overlapping waves of pleasure. This was... this was nothing like touching himself. That was taking care of business, and getting on with things, this was... _madness_.

Mat’s firm strokes kept up, unhurried, and Mat kissed his face, his neck, his mouth, teased his nipples with his free hand, and Rand couldn’t—he was going to—

“ _Yes_ ,” Mat panted, when Rand began to lose the rhythm. “That’s it, love, come on, let go.”

And Rand was gone.

He was silent, mouth open and both hands gripped tight on Mat’s as he worked Rand through his climax, and felt his own release splashing onto his chest, belly, and even his arms.

With a final, slow stroke, Mat released him, letting Rand’s softening cock rest exposed as he trailed his fingers through the come on his belly.

Every nerve in Rand’s body was on fire, and he shook with the feeling.

“Yes, you were _amazing_ ,” Mat was murmuring in his ear, but Rand was barely listening. “So good, love, _so_ good.”

Wanting to look Mat in the face, and honestly feeling his left arm going a bit numb, Rand managed to get his floppy limbs to roll him over to look at Mat, who was grinning at him like he was the one who’d just gotten an orgasm, not Rand.

Rand blinked a bit stupidly at him in response, his breath still a bit ragged, and managed to slur a weak, “Blood’n’ashs”, while Mat stroked his hair away from his sweat damp face with his clean hand, and kissed him.

The one remaining wit in his head gave him the presence of mind to use his freed up limbs to delicately push his spent cock back inside his breeches, though he didn’t bother lacing the soiled garment. Speaking of which...

Rand sat up and pulled his shirt off, and tossed it aside so it wouldn’t be, er, contaminated, and used a corner of the sheet to wipe clean his chest and stomach. The stifled sound Mat made caused him to look up, and the look on Mat’s face was... hunger, and something uncomfortably like adoration.

Rand blushed, realizing this was the first time he’d had his shirt completely off in this... context. Conscious of Mat’s eyes on him, Rand let his own eyes travel down to where Mat’s arousal was still very much in evidence, though Mat showed no sign of moving to do anything about it.

Maybe he should...?

Rand reached a tentative hand out for the laces of Mat’s breeches, but the other man stopped him with a sound of negation.

“I told you not to worry about me,” Mat said, settling back into the pillows with a sinuous stretch.

“But... But I—and you,” Rand’s final wit was failing him.

Mat laughed aloud, head back and neck exposed, and Rand kind of wanted to lick it.

“But you came and I didn’t,” Mat translated. “Light, Rand, it’s okay to say the words. I won’t tell on you,” Mat winked at him, and Rand scowled.

“That’s not the point,” Rand said, flopping down next to Mat and wriggling closer to him. “The point is, what are you going to do about this?” He said, and boldly brushed the bulge in Mat’s breeches before he could protest.

Mat sucked in a sharp breath, “ _Burn_ you, that was sneaky,” he muttered. “Who says I have to do anything about it?”

Rand’s brow drew down in a frown. “Don’t you want to...?”

“Come?” Mat supplied, and Rand hit his shoulder. “Yes, but I’ll live if I don’t.”

“Well, did you want me to... help you?” Rand asked.

Mat looked at him with fond exasperation.

“Not today,” said Mat, and leaned forward to kiss Rand slowly. “But, I saw you watching, before,” Mat purred.

Rand felt an echo of his recent orgasm curl in his belly.

“I saw how you looked, watching me while I jerked your cock, and you fucked my hand,” Mat drawled on, lifting Rand’s chin to kiss down the line of his throat.

“ _Guh_ ,” Rand said, intelligently, his limbs returning to a liquid state.

“I think you liked watching me,” Mat scraped his teeth across the top of Rand’s pectoral.

“Light, yes,” Rand admitted, skin flushing all over again.

“Then why don’t you look?” Mat said, and Rand could feel the mischievous grin against the hollow of his throat before he saw it when Mat pulled back, so Rand could look down between them.

Mat lay on his back, his own breeches fully unlaced, and with one hand was pulling off his own shirt to expose the lean, defined muscles of Mat’s abdominals. But what Mat had meant was the same hand that had pulled Rand’s brain out through his cock, was now pulling on Mat’s own with the same, languid grace.

It was too soon to get hard, again, but Rand’s body sure gave it a good try. He sat up for a better view.

“You do like to watch,” Mat said, his voice a little breathless.

Wide-eyed and refusing to feel self-conscious if Mat wasn’t going to, he followed the movement of Mat’s hand, cock head disappearing and reappearing in Mat’s fist, and could barely breathe for the sight of it.

“Just you,” he said, with the half dead wit left to him.

Mat’s hips jerked, at that, and he spread his legs wider, fist still pulling slow and steady.

Mat watched Rand watching him, and when their eyes met, Rand could only read breathless desire in the look on Mat’s face, nothing of mocking or superiority.

It was a different man in front of him, from the one that had castigated his virginity just that morning.

“You’re beautiful,” Rand said, eyes raking over Mat’s wildly mussed hair, intent eyes, and glistening body.

Mat made a strangled sound, and arched his back as he came. From the look of it, it had taken Mat by surprise, and he lay breathing heavily when it passed, eyes wide and fixed on Rand as his hand left his cock, the rest of him boneless in repose.

Jealousy had never been something he’d felt with regard to Mat, but he did feel a surge of possessiveness, wondering if he was the only one to see Mat like this.

Rand unselfconsciously cleaned Mat up, pulling the soiled sheet out from under him when he was finished, resulting in Mat’s look morphing into a baleful glare.

“You are kind of bad at this afterglow, thing,” said Mat, not unkindly.

Rand shrugged. “Do you like feeling sticky?”

Mat snorted, and beckoned Rand over, who came armed with a blanket that he maneuvered beneath them while Mat made an effort to kiss him and giggle at the same time.

“Hey,” Mat said, when they were finally situated, tilting Rand’s chin up from where it lay on Mat’s chest. “What’s going on in there?” He asked, tapping Rand’s temple.

Rand made a face at him before snuggling back into his chest.

“Nothing special. I’m fine. Not sure if my brain is ever going to work properly ever again, but that was all...” Rand cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous for blushing after what they’d just done, but unable to help it. “...really nice.”

“Mmm,” Mat purred, Running his fingers through Rand’s tangled red hair. “Oh, love, I am just getting started, with you.”

Rand wasn’t sure Mat noticed that he’d called Rand _‘love’_ , and not for the first time. Rand felt his guts do their little dance whenever Mat said or did something like that, and smiled into Mat’s chest, both at the word, and Mat’s implied promise.

Rand really was bad at afterglow, though, and so he had them out of bed, washing up, and gathering up their soiled clothes before too long.

Mat twitted him about his post-orgasmic energy, but didn’t mind too much when Rand ‘helped’ him wash up, and even forgot the dagger inside his coat when they eventually went down to the common room for supper.


	5. 5

For most of the next few days, Rand was able to keep Mat’s spirits up.

And other things, but that was... only slightly related.

Always, Mat gravitated back toward their room, especially when he caught sight of a stranger speaking with Master Gill, which was pretty much always. The man was an innkeeper, after all. Rand had made their excuses when Mat beat a hasty retreat after witnessing an old woman having a quiet conversation with the rotund Master Gill, and that was that.

If that had not been unlucky enough, just last evening, one of the other guests had come into the library seeking a book, and Mat had been so on edge as he sat with Rand and Loial that the patron had fled before too long. Rand already had the sinking feeling that Mat would not be returning there, either.

In spite of all of that, or perhaps because of it, after those first few days at The Queen’s Blessing, reveling in stillness and safety—though Mat would have laughed at him to call it that—and his newfound... whatever it was, with Mat, Rand was becoming restless, and had accompanied Lamgwin into the city on a couple of errands already, Lamgwin eyeing his sword with approval and speculation on each occasion.

Mat hadn’t ever physically threatened him with the dagger again, but when Rand would be away from him for just those few hours, it would take either Mat saying something horrible, an hour of coaxing, kissing him witless, or some combination of the three to have Mat back to what Rand now thought of as ‘himself’.

 _Light_ , but he missed the Two Rivers.

It was an annoying conundrum, Rand thought as he sat on the tiny balcony, smoking a pipe while Mat napped inside the room. At this point, he doubted Mat would leave the inn for anything less than trollocs storming the place, but if Rand wanted to go out, he’d be returning to a sour tempered bear, which meant a lot of effort, and possibly weathering meanness that he’d never had to endure from anyone, least of all from _Mat_.

He’d not... not brought Rand into it, again. Not really. Somehow, whatever was affecting him—Rand was sure it was connected to that damned dagger, but the least suggestion of it was like throwing water onto an oil fire—Rand really did seem to be a balm to it.

But the more time Rand spent encouraging his friend ( _lover_? whispered his mind) to think straight, the more restless he seemed to get, and Mat’s short temper was catching.

This morning, Mat had refused to get out of bed, and though Rand just knew he had not actually slept at all, he had stormed out and left him to it to wander Caemlyn until lunch. His mind had cleared while he’d been gone, and when he returned, Rand had spent a grueling hour forcing Mat to listen to all he’d seen that morning, watching as the feverish light slowly left his eyes, and he relaxed enough to kiss Rand for a while before actually falling asleep.

Rand had hoped, somewhat selfishly, that Mat might be inclined to do more than just kiss, but he’d looked so tired that Rand had just stayed with him until he’d fallen asleep.

He’d then removed the dagger from under the pillow where Mat was keeping it, and moved it across the room. He was testing a theory, one he hoped wouldn’t blow back in his face.

Finishing the pipe, Rand stood, already removing his coat as he stepped back into the room, shutting the door behind him quietly. Rand took a few moments to think it through as much as he dared, then divested himself of belt, socks—he paused, hands on the hem as he considered—and shirt, before slipping into the bed beside Mat.

After the first couple times he’d been able to coax Mat from his mood, and gotten him to sleep, Rand had discovered that Mat had a fondness for waking him up with kisses and caresses that usually lead to more. Rand had commented on it, and Mat had just grinned at him, saying some nonsense about his sleeping face before going all quiet and asking if Rand didn’t like it.

Rand liked pretty much any circumstance under which Mat was kissing him, so he’d categorically denied any dislike.

Settling down and burrowing in close to Mat’s body, Rand was making the gamble that Mat would focus on the first thing to hand—him—rather than checking for the dagger. It was a gamble worthy of Mat Cauthon, but one that Rand hoped might pay off, in information if not... _other_ things.

So Rand closed his eyes, and waited. Actually falling asleep was risky, but Rand needn’t have worried. He’d been only a minute or two lying against Mat’s warm body when the other man stirred.

“Hmm,” Mat hummed, still mostly asleep as two hands snaked out from the blankets and settled on Rand’s chest. A series of a mumbles came out of Mat’s mouth that might have been a question about what happened to Rand’s shirt.

“I wanted to air it out,” said Rand. “Saves on the washing. Besides, it’s the middle of the afternoon. It’s warm in here.”

“Is it,” Mat slurred, sleep mussed hair sticking up in every direction. He pressed his face against Rand’s neck with languid possessiveness, like his face wouldn’t be anywhere else.

No hand had reached under the pillow, yet. So far, so good.

“I notice you aren’t complaining,” Rand said, squirming a little when Mat’s breath tickled his skin.

“Nope,” he said, letting the ‘P’ pop at the end of the word as he dragged dry lips across Rand’s skin. It made him shiver, and a stirring start up in his breeches.

“Still tired, then?” Rand asked, stroking a hand through Mat’s mussed hair, smoothing some of the tufts back down.

“Hmm,” Mat hummed, shifting lower to move his lips from Rand’s throat to the skin of his chest. “Not anymore,” he said, teeth scraping a line where his lips had been. Rand inhaled sharply as Mat’s mouth closed over a nipple, going from stirred to hard in the space of a few breaths.

 _Success_ , he thought, dizzy with the change in blood flow, though really, Mat did this to him just by existing, sometimes.

“Oh,” Rand gasped, arching into the contact. “That’s good, then.”

Mat pulled on Rand’s nipple lightly with his teeth before releasing it, and looked up at Rand through a fringe of messy brown hair, eyes now very much awake, and alight with mischief.

“Is that how it is, then,” Mat grinned slowly. “Are you trying to seduce me, Rand al’Thor?” He asked playfully, sliding a hand down Rand’s chest and around to the naked skin of his back, pulling their bodies flush so Rand’s evident arousal pressed against Mat’s belly.

“I—” Rand gasped. “Maybe?”

Mat laughed, a happy sound, not a mocking one, and the vibration sent a jolt through Rand that made him move his hips.

“Rand, your existence is a seduction. Light, just _looking_ at you makes me hard, sometimes,” he said, and kissed Rand’s chest. Rand blushed at the words, but the pleasure at them warmed him to his core. “Waking up with you here... I can hardly believe it, every time it happens,” Mat spoke into his skin, and went for the other nipple.

Rand gasped again, and they didn’t say anything for a while. Mat lavished attention on his nipples—Light, he did seem to enjoy that—and let his hands wander across the muscles of Rand’s back, occasionally dipping down to encourage the slow roll of Rand’s hips into the muscle of Mat’s stomach.

Mat moved both hands to press against Rand’s chest, and left off torturing his nipples to look up at him.

“Lie back,” he said, and Rand did so.

Before Rand could ask what for, had he the presence of mind to do so—Mat’s mouth always turned his brain foggy, no matter what it was doing—Mat had moved back over him, situating his body between Rand’s legs and settling down atop him.

The weight shocked him for a moment, and he half sat up, but Mat soothed him with a murmur and kissed him soundly.

“Relax,” he said, when he pulled back, his brown eyes meeting Rand’s grey. “You tell me to stop if you don’t like anything I do, or make a funny noise, or just push me away, and I’ll stop, no questions, you hear?”

Rand nodded, letting Mat guide him back down so he lay with his head on the pillows, Mat’s weight settled partially atop him, the clothed lower halves of their bodies snugged together in a pleasant way.

“Blood and ashes, Mat, you don’t have to treat me like I’ll break,” Rand complained, tilting his head to oblige Mat as he bent to kiss Rand’s neck.

Mat sighed against Rand’s neck and rested his full weight on Rand for a moment, cocking his head to glare at Rand from one eye.

“Rand al’Thor,” huffed Mat, voice kind but exasperated. “Am I, or am I not, the only person you’ve had touching you this way?”

The question caught Rand off guard, though it probably shouldn’t have. To his dismay, it called up a memory he hadn't thought of in years, and not a pleasant one. Rand shifted beneath Mat’s weight, some of his arousal waning.

Something about Rand’s pause, or the look on his face must have given him away, because Mat breath caught and he lifted his head, eyes narrowed on Rand’s face.

“More or less,” Rand obfuscated quickly, averting his own eyes.

“More or—” Mat sat up and back on his heels so quickly Rand was surprised he didn’t pitch right off the bed. The look on his face was intent, almost indignant, and Rand too sat up on his elbows, a jolt of panic running through him. Had Mat noticed the dagger missing?

“What?” Rand asked, heart thudding. “What is it?”

“Rand,” Mat said, staring into Rand’s face. “What do you mean ‘more or less’?”

Oh. Rand tried to look away again, but was stopped by Mat’s hand turning back to face him again.

“Hey,” Mat said softly, but with an intensity that was unnerving to have on him in full force. “This is why talking is important. I need to know what you mean. What—when? Light, _who—_ ” Mat stopped and took a slow breath in and out through his nose, eyes closing as he did so. “What did you mean when you said that: more or less? I don’t mind, I just thought you’d... never done anything like this before?”

The question was kind, curious, not demanding. But it was a doubled sided question, and Rand was uncomfortable with both answers—to say nothing of how Mat had evidently picked up on his distress when he’d asked in the first place.

It had just… been a long time ago. It didn’t matter, not when he had Mat here in bed with him.

“Look, it’s not—it _wasn’t_ —a big deal,” Rand insisted, his cheeks coloring as he looked away.

“That’s not a ‘this isn’t a big deal’ face, Rand,” Mat intoned flatly.

Rand glared at him, but sighed as he sat up properly, drawing his legs away from Mat and pulling away from his hand. Mat let him go with obvious reluctance. They sat across from one another on the bed, Mat on his haunches and Rand with legs crossed.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Rand muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It matters because _you_ matter, and I’m not going to put my foot in it if I can help it. Not with you,” said Mat, reaching out and laying a hand on Rand’s raised knee.

Sighing again, Rand glanced at Mat’s intent face, then away again, down to where his hand rested.

This was not something he’d planned on talking about with Mat, mostly because he never thought about it much himself. Now was a particularly inauspicious time to have it brought up, though. Any minute Mat could reach out for the dagger and find it missing, and then _Rand_ would have his foot in it.

“I barely remember it,” Rand finally muttered, shoulders sagging.

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” said Mat in a low, somewhat strangled tone, letting his hand fall away from Rand’s knee.

Rand rolled his eyes and looked away, chafing his hands together.

“Look, it’s _fine_. I got into some drink with some of the caravan guards. I had too much, and a couple of them got a little bold with their hands. I fought them and they kicked me around, and then they ran off.”

Rand looked back at Mat to see him frozen, eyes a little wide. Surprised at the reaction, Rand leaned forward, touching Mat’s knee, though more tentatively than Mat had touched his. “Mat, really, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have said anything about it. It was a long time ago. It’s not like they forced themselves on me, or anything.”

Mat’s eyes closed, and he visibly collected himself. “Rand,” he asked, voice deceptively calm. “When did that all... happen?”

Not wanting to admit he didn’t remember most of the night he was talking about, Rand pulled back and sighed. It seemed the only way out was through. Mat was as stubborn as anyone, and if Rand refused to talk, who knew what he might do, the way he’d been acting.

“I mean,” Rand hesitated. “It was a long time ago. Five years, maybe? We’d both turned fifteen, by then, in any case. One of those merchant caravans was coming through, the one with the guard that didn’t want to pay for that axe Perrin has.”

Rand figured that was enough to be going on with, but Mat kept looking at him, expectant.

“ _Light_ , Mat, you really want to hear this?” He asked, annoyed.

“I’d rather chew nails,” said Mat, with perfect sincerity, and it poked a hole in Rand’s rising temper. “But you can tell me. Or we can stop and go have a pipe, or take a nap.”

Rand slumped, none of those things what he’d had in mind, rubbing at his forehead. “Light, _fine_. Fine! But really, there’s not much to tell.”

“Thank the light,” said Mat, with a poor attempt at his usual joviality. “You’re a terrible story teller.”

Rand glared at him, but the effort made him smile in spite of himself.

“Well,” Rand started, trying to make his memory work for him. “With the merchants camping out that week, we had all sorts come in from the outlying farms, and from Devon Ride, right?” Mat nodded again. “It was kind of a little festival for a few days, and you know that Tam and I stayed in the village proper a couple nights.”

“You stayed with us,” Mat confirmed, still watching Rand with hawk’s eyes.

“Right,” Rand said, and looked down again. “Well. A couple of those nights, there was a lot of dancing, and some of the merchants had that strong drink with them, from Cairhien, said it was stuff left over from trading with the Aiel before the war.”

Mat wrinkled his nose. “Owskye, or something, right? Nasty stuff.”

Rand laughed, the sound edged with bitterness. “You could say that.”

A look crossed Mat’s face, the one he got when his brain was going faster than Rand’s ever could, but he nodded, still listening.

“There was...” Rand swallowed, knowing this was the part Mat wouldn’t like. “There was that night, that I didn’t go back to your house.”

Mat’s brow furrowed, and then rose in recognition. “That’s _right!_ And the next morning Master al’Vere came to tell us you and Tam had gone back to the farm. The merchants packed up and left that afternoon, said they had to be getting on to Taren Ferry, something about the business with Master Louhan and that axe.” He looked at Rand, eyes widening. “I... Blood and ashes, Rand, I didn’t see you for _weeks_ after that! Not until Harvest festival!”

To his shame, Rand felt his eyes stinging, and he looked down. Without really thinking about it, he drew his legs up to his chest, and hid his face. Light, why was he talking about this? Why did it even _matter_ when it had been so long ago?

“Rand?” Mat asked softly. “Light, I’m sorry. You can stop. Bloody _ashes_ , I’m sorry.”

Thoughtlessly, Rand shrugged. “S’not a big deal, like I said. I really don’t remember much of it. Just... bits and pieces. Everybody was dancing, you and Perrin, even Nynaeve and Tam. I was sitting with the cloth merchant, the older woman, and some of her guards were telling stories and I was listening, and one brought out a cask of that drink. It—it _was_ nasty, but I kind of liked it, too?”

Rand thought back on the burn of the liquor in his throat, the warm feeling it left behind after he’d had several small cups while they told stories of passing through Ghealdan and then around the mining camps in the mountains. He’d been enjoying himself quite a lot.

Until he’d gotten sick, and that’s where his memory started to go in and out

“It—it made me sick. I—” Rand paused, swallowing hard, and closed his eyes. “It’s hard to remember, what happened after that. I think the merchant, she left to go to bed at the inn, and maybe she asked the guards to see me home. The next thing I remember, I—I was by their horse corral, and the water troughs, and one of them—” Rand stopped, then, somewhat stunned by the recollection.

He hadn’t remembered the horse corral, before. Then, he noticed that he felt calm, distant. It was the Void, and with it, a flame to which he could feed the words.

“—He splashed me with water,” continued Rand. “A lot, my whole shirt was wet, and I guess I took it off because I didn’t have it on when he started to touch my stomach and took my belt off and I—maybe I tried to stop him?” Rand questioned. “Because he hit me,” Rand said, touching his face absently, a memory of pain.

Mat made a noise, but Rand barely heard it.

“I got sick again, and he hit me again, on the head I think, because I blacked out. Next thing I remember was my head in the water trough, and choking, and I hit him and tried to run away but I was drunk—” the Void trembled. Rand firmed his grip on it. “—and there was water in my eyes, or maybe blood, and my breeches were falling down because my belt was gone. I tripped and spooked the horses, and the one guard ran after me, and I was on the ground and then he was on top of me—” the Void shook again, harder. “—hitting me again—but then someone came because of the horses, and there was shouting. I guess I blacked out again, because the next thing I remember is Tam, and being on a cart, I think, with Nynaeve who was still only the apprentice, and we were on the way back to the farm.”

The room was silent, and Rand realized that his eyes hadn’t been burning for some time. They were dry.

Rand hadn’t... he hadn’t actually remembered some of that until he’d said it. From before, all he’d really remembered was the drink, being sick, getting beaten up by the guards and having those hands on him, and then waking up with Tam and Nynaeve.

Had the void done that? Made it so he could remember?

Rand didn’t know if he liked that.

Still in the grip of the void, Rand looked up from his knees, and saw Mat staring at him, face ashen, eyes wide and mouth set in a grim line that Rand had never seen on his friend’s face before. Mat’s hand’s were white knuckled in their grip on his own knees, but his breathing was calm.

“The guard... he was the one who wouldn’t pay for the axe,” Mat said into the deafening silence. “He—did that to you.”

Rand nodded, then shrugged, blinking away the void and shuddering as a belated feeling of dizziness swept through him.

“I was drunk. Him too, probably.”

“Those guards were gone the next morning,” Mat said, like Rand hadn’t said anything, his voice a rough edged thing. “The merchant was furious, as was the one guard she had left. They’d stolen horses and run off in the night, she said.”

Rand shrugged again, feeling suddenly tired, and disappointed that something he’d been enjoying had been interrupted by... this. It had been a long time ago, and now it almost felt like it had happened to someone else.

Almost.

“I wouldn’t know. Nynaeve said I had at least one cracked rib, and my head was injured, so I was laid up for a long time. I—Tam was ready to go off after the guards, mentioned the horses they’d taken, but Nynaeve laid into him and I think she— _Light_ , I think she might have made him cry. He stayed with me instead, and looked after me when Nynaeve had to go back to the village.”

“That bastard,” hissed Mat. “I’ll kill him. If Tam didn’t do it already, whatever Nynaeve said to him.”

“Mat,” Rand sighed, releasing his knees and slumping back onto the pillows. “It was near five years ago, now. It doesn’t matter.”

The noise Mat made was nearly a growl.

“The _hell_ it doesn’t!” Mat countered. “Rand al’Thor, that son of a milk starved goat whore got you drunk, tried to rape you, then beat you unconscious when you fought!”

Rand flinched hard, and looked away from Mat. He hadn’t really thought of it like that. Nothing had actually happened, not like what he’d done with Mat, anyway.

“It was a long time ago, and I hardly remember it,” was all he said.

“Light,” Mat said, and Rand closed his eyes. “You remember enough of it, Rand! Why didn’t you—blood and _bloody_ ashes, why didn’t you _tell_ me? Why didn’t Tam? We’d have run the bastards down, Da and I, and Master Louhan too! He’d have fed him that bloody axe, spike first!”

Rand sighed. “I was fifteen, but I was already as tall as those guards. Once we were back on the farm, I just... wanted that to be it. I barely remembered any of it at all, at the time, and I didn’t want to make a fuss. I didn’t really remember the other part, with my belt and all, until they were long gone, and even then I wasn’t sure. Tam didn’t know about it, and neither did Nynaeve. _Light_ , Mat, I didn’t want anyone else to know I’d gotten drunk and been beaten up. I felt like a fool.”

“You weren’t,” Mat said angrily. “That—that piece of filth took advantage of you. Light, and I was off dancing and dicing like a perfect moron!”

“You were having fun, Mat,” Rand said, exasperated. “Light, you weren’t my keeper.”

“There were strangers everywhere! And I was the only one who ever noticed you didn’t like people putting their hands on you, I should have been with you like usual, not—carousing!” He muttered, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly before letting his hands fall, and slumping like he was tired all over again.

“It’s not your fault I drank that stuff and got myself into a mess,” Rand said, unfolding his legs and reaching out.

Mat grabbed the hand Rand extended and pulled him into a hard embrace.

“S’not your fault either,” he muttered into Rand’s neck. “Bloody bastard. If I ever find him, I’ll string him up by his guts and feed him his balls.”

“Mat!” Rand said, a little scandalized, and tried to pull back, but Mat held him firm.

“What if it had been Egwene?” Mat asked, relenting enough to look Rand in the face. “Would you have just let it go?”

The thought chilled Rand’s insides. Egwene... Light, if it had been her.

“No,” he said quietly. “But it was _me_. It’s different.”

“Not to me,” Mat said, and kissed him once, like he was making a point. “Blood and ashes, not to me. And not to Tam or Nynaeve, either, I’d bet. The hell Nynaeve didn’t suspect what happened, she practically beat me away from you with that stick of hers for months after you started coming ‘round again. Only let up when it was obvious I was still your favorite.”

Mat’s grin was weak, and Rand sighed, leaning into Mat’s embrace.

“Well, this seduction is going _so well,_ ” he said acerbically.

“Hush,” Mat said, a more genuine smile in his voice. “I’m glad you told me. It—explains some things, I guess.”

Rand hummed, the sound noncommittal.

“I don’t suppose we’ll be getting to whatever you had in mind, then,” Rand said regretfully.

“Later,” Mat said. “I think I’m too—angry, right now. Not at you. I just need some time to think.”

“Not really feeling up to the task, myself,” Rand said, and Mat hit him gently in the arm at the bad joke.

“Supper?” Mat asked, and Rand brightened, a little. This was the first time Mat had brought up food on his own since they’d come to the Queen’s Blessing nearly a week ago.

“Sure. Up here?” Rand asked. Mat visibly wavered for a moment, then nodded agreement. Well, Rand couldn’t expect miracles.

They put their shirts on and righted the rest of their clothing. Rand went to the kitchen himself, uncomfortable with utilizing the maids or calling for service when Master Gill was letting them stay without charge. Cook chased him out, though, insisting that she’d have a tray of the midday meal sent up.

When Rand returned, it was to see Mat heading right for the table where Rand had put the dagger. Mat almost absentmindedly tucked the dagger into his belt, as if he hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t where he’d left it.

He’d gone straight for it, like he’d known it was there, all along.

A chill went up Rand’s spine, but he ignored it. Some questions answered, and new ones popping up in their place like molehills in a meadow.

* * *

The next day, Rand had slightly more success with distracting Mat from the dagger. That morning, Mat managed to get around to what he’d tried to do with Rand before that terrible conversation, and Rand felt like he might have a permanent blush on his cheeks. Lamgwin had commented on it.

Light, but there were some things Rand had been missing out on.

“What do I tell Egwene?” Rand blurted later in the evening, he naked and Mat nearly so in Rand’s bed, the dagger hidden in a tangle of sheets beneath Mat’s bed where they’d been stuffed in the early hours of the morning.

“That you’re mine, and to get her own sheep herder,” Mat responded sleepily.

Chuckling, Rand wrapped his arm around Mat’s bare torso, feeling the relaxed rise and fall of his chest, not a little smug about finally getting to return Mat’s attentions.

“And when she tells Nynaeve, what then?” Rand asked, grinning into the back of Mat’s neck.

With a sigh, Mat wriggled around like a fish until he was facing Rand. “Blood and ashes but you are a talker, aren’t you,” he grumbled, kissing Rand with absent fondness before settling onto his back.

“It’s not like we could hide it. I don’t want to, for one, and the both of them are like hounds on a scent. They’d know as soon as look at us,” Rand said, tucking his head into the hollow of Mat’s shoulder and neck.

“Well it’s me they’ll both want to thump, so _you_ should probably tell them,” Mat said, and Rand punched him lightly in the ribs, making him huff, then laugh.

“Light save you if you think you’re getting out of it that easily,” Rand said into the skin over Mat’s collar bone. “I mean _after_ they both obviously thump us. What do we do? What... what happens when we go back home?”

For a minute that stretched to eternity, Mat was silent. Rand looked up to see him gazing grimly up into the near darkness of the ceiling, candlelight casting his features in shadow.

“If we make it back home, after all this,” Mat said, voice flat, like he didn’t believe in that _if_ , “then the Light burn what anyone has to say about it. I’m not giving you up, now I’ve got you.”

That last, Rand thought, as Mat turned his focus onto Rand and the rising demands of his body once more, had at least had the ring of certain truth to it.

Whatever came, Mat wasn’t giving him up, and Rand, gasping as their bodies slid together, his best friend above him, arching his back in the guttering light of the candles, would leave his home and everything he knew behind, if it meant he got to keep this.

* * *

In the night, Mat walked the room in his sleep. Rand woke to the sound of Mat’s voice in what seemed like conversation with himself.

“Not yet, not ready,” came Mat’s voice, a low mutter.

“Mat?” Rand called out, and after a minute of tense silence in the darkness of the room, Mat returned to the bed without making another sound. The dagger wasn’t in his hands, but it gave Rand no comfort. It just meant that hiding it from him hadn’t solved anything.

In the morning, Mat had no memory of leaving the bed, and Rand dropped the subject when Mat’s face began looking gray. Mat was willing to venture out to the library for breakfast with Loial, but seemed distracted and twitchy the entire time. When Mat abruptly left, food barely picked at, Rand made his excuses for him to Loial and only reluctantly ate the remains of his own meal.

“Rand,” said Loial, voice tentative. “Are you sure he is quite well?”

“I don’t know,” murmured Rand, feeling helpless. “I just don’t know.”

Later, just sitting pressed together with a pipe on the tiny balcony, Rand tentatively broached the subject.

Mat was quiet for a long time, and Rand looked over to see him gripping the bowl of the pipe with white knuckled fingers.

“Mat?” Rand asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sounding tight. “I don’t—I want to _scream_ at you and I don’t know _why_. I—” Mat shuddered and breathed deeply before sucking on the pipe once more and passing it to Rand.

“I feel this _rage,_ and—other things, just all at once like a bolt of lightning. My dreams feel... strange. Like I’m being pulled in three different directions. I don’t remember what happens, not like with,” Mat swallowed hard and gestured to his eyes. Rand shivered in agreement—he’d never forget the dreams of Ba’alzamon, either.

“You don’t remember anything? Not at all?” Rand asked, gently.

The look on Mat’s face was haunted.

“Just... feelings,” he rasped, and huddled in on himself a bit, looking away from Rand as he wrapped his arms around his middle. “Not good ones.”

Unwilling if not unable to press further, Rand just set the spent pipe aside and put his arm around Mat’s shoulders.

They sat like that for a few minutes before Mat abruptly broke the silence.

“You should ask Master Gill for another room, or—I’ll...sleep in the stables.” Mat looked nauseated at the prospect, but pushed forward. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay with me at night.”

Pulling away, Rand searched Mat’s face, alarmed at the real fear he saw there. “You’re serious.”

“You said I’m sleepwalking. What if I hurt you?” Mat looked ashen. “I nearly did, already, and I was awake!”

“That’s different,” Rand protested. “And what if you hurt your _self?_ I’m not going to leave you here alone to stumble off the balcony while I sleep elsewhere, because there’s not a chance you’re sleeping in the stables. Don’t be ridiculous, Mat,” Rand huffed. “You said it’s better with me around, right? Well, I’m staying.”

Mat opened his mouth, but after a moment, shut it again and slumped against Rand, looking miserable.

“You know, I never thought I’d say it, but I wish that Moiraine Sedai were here,” Mat mumbled into Rand’s collar. “I think I’m sick.”

“We’ll see about getting a wisdom for you,” Rand said, running his fingers through Mat’s curls.

Nuzzling his face into Rand’s neck, Mat pressed a kiss to the exposed skin. “Later, though?” He asked. “I’m feeling well enough now to teach you something new.”

Rand’s breath caught—that was a quick turnaround, but Mat was finally relaxing, and so Rand didn’t protest. He tightened his fingers, gripping Mat’s hair and keeping him right where he was. Mat made a quiet sound of pleasure.

“I suppose it could wait,” Rand laughed.

And it did. When Mat had finished with Rand, neither of them thought about asking Master Gill to fetch a wisdom, and Mat left the dagger still untouched beneath the bed for another night.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: non-con in this chapter; see end notes for directions if you want to skip that section.

“Okay, that’s—no, don’t stop, light burn you—it’s weird, okay?”

Mat sat up, flushed face and mussed hair making Rand want to pin him to the bed and kiss the exasperation away, but he obediently didn’t move his hand.

He had stopped moving his finger, though.

“Rand, it’s really hard to be sultry and seductive with you _laughing at me_ ,” Mat deadpanned.

Today marked nine days since they’d arrived in Caemlyn. Mat had slept through the night, and that made it almost two full days the dagger had lain stuffed beneath the bed in soiled sheets, and Rand was lighter than air at the thought it might get scooped up with the laundry, never to be seen or mentioned again.

Even if Mat’s finger was up Rand’s arse, and it was supposed to be something alluring, Mat doing it.

Covering his face, Rand couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said through his mirth. “It’s just—it feels a little weird, okay? Just keep going. I’ll stop.”

Mat’s dubious look spoke volumes.

“Come on,” Rand said, and shifted his hips to playfully encourage Mat. The motion made Mat’s finger slide deeper inside of him, and a little _oh_ of surprise escaped Rand when it sparked a sensation of... not quite pleasure, but still satisfying, amidst the weirdness.

“Impatient,” Mat said, moving with Rand’s motion to keep his finger right where it was. “Bloody jumping ahead to things, spoiling the surprise.”

Without warning, Mat bent his head and took Rand’s cock—which had only just begun paying attention—into his mouth. Rand gasped and fisted the much abused sheets at the dual sensations, wet heat and the curious, gliding pressure of Mat’s finger inside of him.

When Rand was hard and straining inside Mat’s mouth, Mat pulled his finger out and grasped Rand’s length with his hand, stroking him firmly.

Staring was really all Rand could do, as Mat gathered his own saliva from Rand’s shaft and, after a few more languid pulls, returned his finger to where it had been, Except—burn him—now there were two.

It didn’t hurt, with both the oil Mat had insisted on and Mat’s own spit smoothing the way, and while Mat returned his mouth to Rand’s cock, he pumped those fingers into Rand, and it definitely wasn’t weird anymore.

That spark of pleasure shot through Rand’s spine again, and he moaned just a little at the feeling, Mat’s own groan reverberating through Rand’s heated flesh and trebling the sensation of ecstasy.

Mat pulled off and gripped Rand’s cock with his other hand, Rand watching and meeting Mat’s heated gaze with his own.

“Told you so, you stubborn fucker,” Mat rasped, voice nearly a growl on lips pink and swollen from stretching around Rand’s cock.

“Think— _ah!_ —that’s you, right now,” Rand gasped out with a grin, squirming and shifting his hips into Mat’s hands, seeking that delicious spark again.

“You know,” Mat went on, voice rough but almost conversational as Rand writhed beneath him. “Women have something, I forget what the Wisdoms call it, but girls call it a button, or a pearl. It’s this little thing almost like a cock hidden inside their folds, just above their hole,” Mat thrust his fingers deep inside Rand as if to emphasize the point, and Rand swore breathlessly. “It’s what really gets them going. Stroke it, lick it, but gently, and keep at it,” Mat went on, all the while his fingers played inside of Rand, sending those sparks of pleasure through him again and again, “and it’ll make them moan, make them _scream_.”

A third finger plunged into Rand on the next thrust of Mat’s hand with that word, and wherever those sparks were coming from, Mat went for it in earnest.

“Light, Mat,” Rand gasped.

“We’ve got one, too, though,” Mat panted, shifting toward Rand, knees bumping into where Rand’s arse pressed into the mattress beneath them. “Inside of us, but most men don’t even know about it. Can you imagine? Never knowing,” Mat thrust his fingers forward, curling them inside Rand and stroking with maddening pressure. “What _this_ feels like. Light, _I_ can almost feel it now,” Mat groaned, fisting Rand’s cock, looking down at him with rapt attention. “On my hands and knees, maybe in your barn, in the hayloft, you fucking me with this,” Mat gripped him hard and pulled possessively on Rand’s impossibly hard cock; light, he was going to come any second now. “Stroking that pearl inside me again and again. Light, I’d come on your cock in a second.”

Mat thrust his hips up against Rand’s arse, helping drive his fingers into Rand harder, again and again, head thrown back like he really was imagining it was Rand fucking him.

Blood and ashes.

“Or on my back, or— _yes_ , come on, I’ve got you—riding you, _fuck_ , I don’t care, just—fucking me, hard, until I come all over you, I—”

Backed bowing, Rand came with Mat’s fingers pressed deep inside of him, stretching him open, hand working his cock as his seed spilled over Mat’s fist, three times, a fourth.

Aftershocks of the orgasm still rolling through him, Mat drew his fingers out of Rand and surged forward to claim his mouth in a fierce kiss. Rand gripped his hair and crushed Mat’s body to him, their embrace more violent and lustful than any before, teeth biting and lips sucking, Mat’s blunt nails dragging at the skin of Rand’s chest and arms.

“Light,” Rand panted into Mat’s mouth between kisses, Mat sucking a bruise into his neck, his breech-clout clad hips grinding against Rand’s arse and spent cock. “Light, Mat, I want that,” Rand dragged him up for another kiss. “I want you, I love you, you ridiculous man,” Rand gasped, laughing as his head rushed with the tide of their pleasure.

Mat made a sound like a sob, almost, and his hips stuttered as he too spent himself against Rand.

“Light, me too,” Mat gasped, pressing his face against Rand’s neck. “I love you, too, you woolheaded moron,” Mat managed to gasp out, punctuating the barb with a swift bite to his chin.

A few minutes later, another soiled sheet joining the one beneath the bed, they lay wrapped in one another, the light of late afternoon warming their naked bodies.

“Not sure I’m ready for you doing any of... that, yet, though” Rand mumbled sleepily.

“S’fine,” Mat mumbled back. “More f’me.”

Rand laughed, and marveled at how he’d found something so wonderful in all the loss and disaster that had become of their peaceful life in the Two Rivers.

The dagger beneath the bed was, for a time, forgotten completely.

* * *

Rand went out to see more of the city, the next day, but couldn’t rouse Mat for anything. It was disappointing after what had seemed like a return to normalcy. A surreptitious check beneath the bed showed that the dagger was still where he’d hidden it two full days ago, now, but Rand couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Worried.

Would he know, if the dagger had been moved and replaced?

Would _Mat_ know?

The thought sent a chill up Rand’s spine, and he pushed it to the back of his mind. Mat had been having nightmares, but then, so had Rand.

Later, when he returned, Mat was deeply asleep, and felt fevered when Rand tried to wake him. Finally taking Master Gill up on his offer, he asked the man to send for their Wisdom, or Reader, as they were called, here. She was away helping with a birth, but Master Gill assured she would come tomorrow.

Scared, inexplicably anxious with news of the False Dragon’s impending arrival in the morning, and footsore from traipsing about the city, Rand stripped out of all but his small clothes and stretched out next to Mat. Eventually he fell asleep, hoping just being near Mat would be enough to help with whatever ailed him.

Mat had said it helped.

* * *

Rand’s Dreams were full of a man in a cage, and an Aes Sedai in red, and of falling. A man with fire in his eyes appeared briefly, but a white mist drove him away, and Rand was cold, and then hot, burning hot, and—

Eyes flying open, Rand had a moment to gasp for waking air before he felt cold pressure at his throat.

“Shhh,” said the person atop him, straddling his hips in the darkened room. “Awake. _Yes_ , that’s better.”

Pleasure rippled along his skin, the body above him hot and familiar, and lighting up his nerves with delicious friction.

Light, it was Mat, which was a relief. Rand was bare atop the sheets, naked in the cool air of the room. Bloody ashes, Mat felt good. Rand started to reach his hands toward Mat’s hips when something nagged at him.

Hadn’t Rand kept his smallclothes on before lying down beside Mat? Still sleep addled, Rand tried to look, but the coldness against his neck held him back. There was fabric beneath him, but he was naked. What under the light...

“Mat,” Rand mumbled, voice thick with sleep and confusion. “What—What are you—”

“Quiet,” Mat crooned from above him in a strange voice. “We’ve got to be quiet, or _he’ll hear us_.”

A bolt went through Rand, and he suddenly felt _very_ awake.

In the scant light of the moon coming through the windows, Rand caught a red glint just to the left, out of the corner of his eye. Fear pooled in his gut, realizing just what the cold pressure was against his throat.

It was the ruby hilted dagger. The dagger that had come from the city of waiting shadows, the dagger that had done something to Mat, Rand was now sure.

And its razor edge was all but resting against his skin.

“Mat—” he gasped, thinking to say something to snap Mat out of whatever this was, but fingers went to his mouth and pressed against his lips.

“Shhh,” Mat shifted above him and—oh bloody ashes, Mat was naked, too. And hard. Rand could feel the length of him against his belly as Mat leaned in close enough for Rand to see his glazed brown eyes. “No shouting, Rand. Be good for me. Quiet, so _he_ doesn’t get inside.”

Rand’s mind whirled, confusion making it difficult to parse what Mat was saying. Light, that look in his eyes. Was he fevered? Drugged?

“So much, too much,” Mat gasped. “He _wants_ you, you see, but he can’t have you, because you’re _mine_ ,” Mat nearly purred as he rolled his naked body against Rand’s hips, hair falling into his eyes and obscuring them from view. “She comes for me, time flies.”

Rand gasped against Mat’s fingers at the now familiar pleasure, but there was something... wrong in it like it had never been with Mat, before.

Mat always asked. He always asked, even when Rand was ready to beat him over the head for it. But Mat wasn’t asking, and he had the flat of the dagger pressed to Rand’s throat.

“Eyes of flame,” Mat moaned in strangled cadence, the sound a mix of pleasure and horror, “and mist coming to take me away, but not with you, _not with you_.”

Oh. Oh, light. The image of Ba’alzamon’s burning visage flashed through Rand’s mind, and he understood.

Light preserve them both, but Mat was asleep, and dreaming. It was one of his episodes, and Rand was right in the middle of it.

In the near darkness, Mat lowered his head so it almost rested next to Rand’s on the pillow, and turned his face, nose pressed into the crook of Rand’s neck, inhaling deeply, mouthing at his chilled skin. “You’re really here, I knew you’d be so good.”

Rand tried to catch his gaze, but he couldn’t so much as turn his head without slicing himself open on the blade, and something told him it would mean worse than a mere cut.

Oh, Mat. Bloody fool, why’d he have to take up the dagger, again?

“He’ll let the fire inside,” sighed Mat, and his hot breath made Rand’s body prickle with conflicting sensations, and Rand breathed through the lust and vague nausea rising in him. This was his fault, he should have done something to help Mat sooner, instead of reveling in the newness of having sex with him. He should have gotten the Wisdom sooner, should have brought one himself. Should have sent for an Aes Sedai to heal him and damn the consequences.

Now look where he was, where they both were. The light burn him for an _arrogant, selfish_ _fool_.

“Mat, stop—please,” Rand choked out, feeling his eyes prickle with frustration and fear, “you don’t—this isn’t right,” Rand mumbled into Mat’s fingers, but was stopped from further entreaty when Mat pushed three of them into his mouth.

Rand nearly gagged as Mat pressed his long fingers onto Rand’s tongue. Hardly daring to swallow with the dagger positioned where it was, and unwilling to bite him for the same reason, saliva pooled at the edges of Rand’s lips and dripped down his chin, gentle thrusts of Mat’s fingers coaxing more out with every movement.

The dagger was an omnipresent stain on what might have been a sensual tableau, one Rand might look back on and blush, smiling with remembered ecstasy. Not horror, confusion, and—heartbreak. Was that the crushing sensation inside his chest?

Mat shifted backward, hips never stilling their relentless grind as they coaxed his errant flesh to wakefulness. Tears finally spilled from the corners of Rand’s eyes, and a strangled grunt came up from his throat—a dissonance of pleasure and distress—though he’d tried to make no movement or sound at all. Rand’s body had learned too well that Mat was _his_ , that Mat was home, pleasure, love, and safety.

“Yes, Rand,” Mat sighed into his neck, open mouthed kisses and blunt teeth lighting up Rand’s nerves and making him want to sob. This was wrong, but so much of what Mat had taught him to love, and Rand was—terrified, for them both.

_Wake up, Mat. Wake up so I can kiss you, so I can slap you, so I can run away. Please. Wake up._

Mat released Rand’s mouth to trail his slick fingers over Rand’s chest in sinuous, possessive motions. “Knew you’d come back for me, through the fire,” he all but moaned, thumbing Rand’s nipple and drawing clawed fingers down toward Rand’s erection.

Unable to move, Rand let out a strangled sound as Mat gripped both of their cocks and pressed them together, holding them flush while he thrust his hips through the slickness taken from Rand’s mouth.

“Can’t let him hear us, can’t let him stop us,” Mat gasped out, “have to be quick.”

“Mat,” Rand hissed through gritted teeth, shutting his eyes. “Light, _stop_ , you have to—” Mat licked a stripe up the underside of Rand’s chin and bit him there, holding Rand’s jaw still with the gentle grip of his teeth, his hips moving, and moving, and moving.

Tears dripped down the side of Rand’s face into his ears, and sickness twisted his belly into knots as he felt climax approaching. This... was not Mat. This couldn’t be Mat. Mat made off color jokes and always asked. This was a nightmare. His—and Mat’s.

_Wake up, Mat._

Mat’s breath hitched, his teeth slipping from Rand’s chin as he leaned back and thrust harder down against Rand’s belly, edging Rand closer to the precipice.

_Please wake up._

Mat shifted his body back and away from Rand’s aching length, releasing them, and Rand shuddered with a stifled sob at the loss of sensation, and in relief.

“So easy, so easy,” purred Mat, the arm and wrist holding the dagger to Rand’s throat as unnaturally stable as it had been since Rand woke up. It was like he didn’t even realize he was holding it there, just as he didn’t realize that Rand was crying, and as desperate for him to stop as he was for release.

“ _Please_ , Mat—” Rand croaked, his voice breaking as he looked up at Mat’s shadowed face, skin pale with illness and shining with sweat in the moonlight.

“Yes, always, love,” Mat said, thrusting his fingers back into Rand’s mouth and cutting off any more words he might think to say. Mat’s shifting hips kept him hard and desperate on the edge, and Rand did little more than sob quietly around Mat’s fingers, but Mat crooned at him, oblivious to it all in the throes of his dream.

When Mat took his fingers out, Rand begged.

“Light, Mat, wake _up_. Wake up, love—stop, _please_ , wake up.”

Light, would Mat remember this, remember Rand pleading and crying?

Did Rand _want_ him to remember?

Mat made him come, body contorted to keep the knife at Rand’s throat and suck him dry at the same time, fingers working him open, burning and stretching. Blinded by tears, head swimming with too much sensation, too many emotions, too much anguish, Rand just lay there, and in a whispered mantra, begged Mat to wake up.

He didn’t.

* * *

Dawn broke, pale and cold with the lingering breath of winter, and Rand stood, dressed and clean in the room he shared with Mat.

(It was still Mat, wasn't it?)

Rand hadn’t slept, couldn’t bear to, not while Mat was there. The thought felt shameful, dishonorable, but he couldn’t force himself to ignore it.

He hadn’t left, though, finding that leaving Mat alone was equally unbearable. He didn’t want to think about what that meant, that it wasn’t just fear, but worry that Mat might do _himself_ some harm if he... dreamed, again.

Indecision plagued him. Rand badly wanted to just leave, go see Logain, The False Dragon, and hope today was the day that something changed. Something else, anyway. But Rand wanted to see if Mat was alright, if he—if he remembered.

Tears leaked from his eyes, and Rand idly brushed them away. That had been happening for the last couple hours, after Mat had risen like a puppet and left him alone on the bed to curl up in the other. Rand had not had the strength to weep, but the tears came in unhurried drops and trickles.

Mat had told him the nightmares were terrible—full of bad, twisted feelings. Mat had said he wasn’t sure what happened when he sleepwalked, that he had dreams that felt real, when he remembered them at all. Mat had warned him off, but Rand hadn’t listened.

Arrogant, stubborn fool, he’d thought whatever it was he could do was stronger than what ailed Mat. More than some romantic notion. Rand had thought—

He didn’t know what he’d thought. It hardly mattered, now.

A twisted kind of relief swept through him, that at least Mat hadn’t used the dagger on him, and that Rand hadn’t done anything to hurt Mat. Not that he could’ve. What had happened was—

Thoughts skittering away from the implications of the previous night, Rand looked at Mat and tried to will himself to go over. To touch him, wake him, _talk_ to him.

Rand had known something was very wrong with his friend, but he’d been so caught up in Mat, and in this misadventure of theirs, that he’d convinced himself it would get better. That it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

“Light blinded fool,” Rand sighed, and finally walked over to Mat. Without touching him, Rand made his usual morning entreaties about getting out of bed, and Mat made the usual scathing grumbles.

It should’ve made him feel something, but Rand only felt a kind of numb defeat. The dagger was back in Mat’s hands, like it hadn’t spent nearly three whole days hidden untouched beneath the bed. The dawn had swept the night away, and now here Rand was, picking up the pieces of himself and wondering how they fit together, now that Mat was—that they—

Leaving quickly, Rand went to go see the False Dragon, and forget about what more than memories had been lost in the night.

Logain, a fall, an heir, a Queen, and an Aes Sedai weren’t enough to make him forget. When he entered the kitchen at the Queen’s Blessing to find his friends, Lan, and Moiraine waiting there, it was almost enough.

Almost.

Rand felt like the last two weeks were written on his face, that if Nynaeve or Perrin looked hard enough they would see what had happened. It made it difficult to feel truly happy that they’d found one another, again.

But they had, and Mat needed help, and Nynaeve would always help someone who needed it. Truthfully, Rand didn’t know if he could bear to return alone to the room he shared with Mat, and when he told Nynaeve that Mat was sick, and she rushed off, Rand felt relieved that Moiraine and the rest quickly followed.

It all came out. The dagger, its insidious power, what it had done to Mat. To them both. Anything Rand could have done wouldn’t have been enough.

 _He_ hadn’t been enough.

“Rand,” Egwene said to him, later, after Mat had supposedly been healed and was resting. “Are you... alright?” She asked. “You look exhausted.”

Managing a smile for her, Rand shrugged. “So do you. It’s been a hard road. If not for Thom and Master Gill, I don’t know what Mat and I would have done.”

Unconsciously, Rand looked upward, in the direction of their room. He hadn’t thought about the state of it before he’d sent both Nynaeve and Moiraine up there. What had it looked like when he’d left, that morning? Rand couldn’t remember. He thought he might have tidied it up a bit when he’d eventually stumbled from the bed, but he couldn’t be sure.

Was his sliced clothing still mixed with the stained, rumpled sheets? Had he remembered to empty the wash basin after cleaning himself? Had he discarded the cloths he’d used to wipe away the mess?

“Rand,” Egwene said quietly, and he looked at her. She reached across the space separating them and brushed a thumb across his cheek, thankfully not letting the touch linger.

Oh. He’d been crying, again. He looked away, ashamed, blinking to clear his eyes.

_Tears, Rand al’Thor? That’s all you can muster?_

A hand on Rand’s arm caused him to start badly, and Egwene snatched it back. He blinked at her, and she looked concerned.

“Rand?” She asked, sounding young, and as lost as he felt.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, feeling like it was mostly a lie. “Just... thinking about everything.”

“Alright,” Egwene said quietly, though she looked like she knew he was lying.

It was good to hear from Perrin and Egwene what had happened after they’d been separated, though Perrin kept giving Rand odd looks.

He had yellow eyes, now. That was... something.

In the middle of a conversation with Loial and Perrin about steddings, Mat swanned into the room.

It was so sudden and unexpected that Rand flinched, his pulse jumping. Perrin sent him another look, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. Rand couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mat, though. Pale, eyes bruised, but... himself.

Was he, though? Something was wrong, and Rand’s pulse ratcheted higher, his throat tightening with dread.

“What?” Mat asked, some of his bravado evaporating, leaving him looking anxious and shifty, “You can’t bloody well blame a man for what he does when he’s crazy.”

_...what?_

It took a minute of interrogation, but the truth outed, and Rand... the bottom had long since dropped out of his stomach; he felt like he might be sick, and it was—it was too much. His heart beat oddly and his skin tightened around his muscles and bones. Spots danced in his vision.

Rand’s conscious thought went away, and he missed the calls after him when he left the room. He hoped Mat’s voice wasn’t among them.

When it returned, he was outside the Queen’s Blessing, crouched by the lip of the stone planter where he’d talked with Lamgwin a handful of times, gazing up at the darkening sky as he gripped the back of his neck with both hands, lungs and throat burning like he’d been gasping for air.

Slowly, Rand unclenched his hands and stood.

“It is not a time to be outside alone, sheepherder,” said Lan’s voice from behind him.

Rand said nothing. Didn’t think he could speak, even if he’d had something to say. What was there to be said?

Mat had forgotten it all. _Everything_.

The nights on the road, mostly gone, the trial of escaping the Four Kings, when Rand had held him close and guided him through rain and danger. So much that he’d forgotten almost entirely.

And of Caemlyn, nothing. Nothing at all.

Not a kiss. Not a touch. Not an argument or cruel word. Not—

Light. The Light illumen Rand, but it was _all gone_.

Mat... had forgotten him. Had forgotten _them_. Rand didn’t know whether to scream or laugh, weep or beat his fists about his head and chest. A knot formed in his throat and Rand fought down a sob, swallowing it with immense effort.

Kissing him, touching him, listening to his secrets, teaching and guiding his hands and lips. It was all. Gone.

Loving him. Hurting him.

Just—gone. Erased.

How did someone _cope_ with that? There was no question of telling Mat any of it; Rand couldn’t be that cruel or selfish. So how, _how_ did he carry this alone? His body felt flayed open, everything inside of him exposed and vulnerable. Light, it _hurt_. Was he supposed to feel this terrible _grief?_

“He hurt me,” Rand said, surprised to find his voice even, level and calm, when there was a scream inside of him that wanted to come roaring out.

Lan, who had come to stand beside him, cocked his head, listening.

“Only last night. He wasn’t... it wasn’t really _him_ , was it?” Rand asked, hating the note of resignation in his voice, the threatening sting of tears in his eyes.

“Moiraine Sedai suspects that he was days from being entirely subsumed by the dagger’s influence, though he put up a bloody struggle to hold on as long as he did. If it is last night that troubles you, then no, he was not himself. Possibly not for much of the day before, as well, but these things are... difficult to predict,” answered the Warder, matter of fact.

It should have made something inside of him ease. In a way, Rand supposed it did. It hadn’t been Mat. It had just been his body. His face and hands and lips. His voice. His words.

His tongue, his teeth, his spit, his _seed._

Closing his eyes tightly, Rand fought his way through the emotion, the _pain_ burbling through his control, and felt two tears slip from his tightly closed eyelids.

 _The flame, then,_ thought Rand.

“Do you need healing?”

Rand forced his eyes open, and finally looked at Lan, wondering if the wild light in his eyes would be dimmed by the void he sought.

“No,” said Rand, now too numb to feel embarrassed. “I—no.”

He made to walk back into the inn, but Lan caught him.

“Sheepherder,” said the warder in his stern voice, though there was a note of compassion to it. “We walk a dangerous path this evening. If you are injured, it must be seen to, or your pride could be the death of you or any one of us.”

“I’ll not slow us,” said Rand, finally feeling heat in his cheeks, and he couldn’t hold the Warder’s gaze. “I’m fine.”

Lan released him, and Rand resumed walking back to the door of the Queen’s Blessing.

“There is no shame in it,” came Lan’s voice, once more. Quiet, somehow gentler.

Rand’s heart jumped in his chest, and he stopped cold. He thought about turning around, confronting the Warder, denying it.

But Rand was tired. Sad, and so very, very tired.

He walked back inside the inn.

No, he supposed there wasn’t any shame in what had happened. Only in that he’d been foolish and _arrogant_ enough to think that he, Rand al’Thor, had the power to help anybody. Even himself or the man he loved.

 _Bloody ashes_ , though Rand, his gut clenching with grief, he _loved Mat._

When he felt the warmth of the inn on his face, he realized that the flow of tears had not stopped from his eyes. He had been steadily weeping the entire time he had been speaking with Lan, the void be damned. It was no wonder the Warder had sussed him out.

Breathing steadily, Rand looked inside of himself and found the void. He took the last three weeks and put it there. Carefully. Handling the memories like precious, breakable things. The memory of the night before, he fed to the flame, though he knew it would do little to stop him from thinking of it, the gesture felt important.

When he opened his eyes again, Rand felt like he could take another step. And all the rest of the steps that would bring him back to his companions; back to Mat.

In those minutes, those moments, Rand wanted very badly to just go home, to his father, to his farm, to the sheep and the life he had known before all this. Never knowing what he could have had with Mat would be better than this slaughterhouse of emotions. In a way, he’d gotten as close to a clean slate as he was likely to get in his life.

Rand supposed what the evil of Shadar Logoth had taken from him, and from Mat, had never been theirs to keep.

_This is the first of the things we lose._

There would be time for weeping, later. Time when he could mourn for what had been lost. One day, there would be time. Just not yet. Now, he had to help save Mat’s life, and that would always be worth any price he had to pay for it. Even if tears that he could not feel had begun to fall, once more.

By the time Rand made it up the stairs and back to his companions, the tears had stopped, fed to the flame with all the rest.

When Mat noticed him standing in the doorway to the library where they sat, he detached himself from the knot of conversation around Loial to head toward Rand.

It was an effort not to step back from him, almost as much as it was to keep himself from reaching out to touch him.

_This is the first of the things we lose._

“Hey,” said Mat, a mix of concern and wariness in his expression. “Are you… Alright?”

The scream inside of Rand tried to make itself known, but he tore a smile out of it, and managed to nod at Mat.

“Fine,” he said. “Just needed some air. I should be asking _you_ that.”

Mat shrugged, looking sheepish. “I feel fine, but—strange. Like there was something I was supposed to be doing, but I can’t remember what it was.” He looked far away for a moment, and Rand’s stomach lurched. “Like it was… important. Did something happen?”

At the back of his throat, something hot and horrible bubbled, primal, a coil of heartbreak and anger, of loss and bitterness at how unfair this was. He _could_ tell Mat, right now, tell him everything, even the part _Rand_ wanted to forget, the part that made him afraid, that clawed at him from the flame to which he’d fed it.

It hadn’t _been_ Mat, though—did he need to tell him about that, what the evil of Shadar Logoth had made him do? Could Rand hide that part of himself, could he even bear to touch Mat, have Mat touch him?

His skin crawled, and Rand wanted to flay the traitorous flesh from his body.

Rand wanted to be selfish, blood and ashes b _ut he wanted Mat back._ Light, Mat had made him so _happy_. And Rand…

No. Rand couldn’t trust himself, not when a mistake would destroy Mat utterly; he would never accept that it had been the dagger, that he hadn’t any real blame, that he had tried to keep Rand safe, but Rand hadn’t listened.

Looking away, Rand swallowed the howl that wanted to emerge, swallowed it whole to burn a path into his guts. Later, he could grieve, he could rage and cry. Already the need to flee Caemlyn was dire; there was no time left for tears.

“No,” he said, and closed his eyes. “No, Mat. It was just a hard road.”

_This is the first of the things we lose—but that we find it again and again, never the last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NC section begins with "Rand’s Dreams were full of a man in a cage...", and ends at the next line break. Resume at "Dawn broke".

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry.
> 
> (It is my headcanon that the first thing the taint did to Rand was to skew his feelings of sexual desire—hence the seemingly sudden plunge into three separate sexual and romantic relationships without warning (nothing at all to do with RJ’s allergy to developing relationships, not at all). Before saidin, he was somewhere in the demisexual/ace spectrum. Shut up, it’s my headcanon. Don’t think about it too hard.)
> 
> Do you like the Wheel of Time? Are you trash, like me? Do you want to discuss ships and prompts and other bullshit? Come join the [Wheel of Time Trash](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) discord! It's lonely, right now.
> 
> P.S. uhh, about my other fic—sorry about that, too. Permanent hiatus and all. I’m the worst, and that’s unlikely to change.


End file.
